Learning to Breathe
by starry19
Summary: 'Jane squeezed her fingers. "Anxious to get going?" he murmured. "We're just lucky some idiot didn't sneak on board and disrupt proceedings. I hear the TSA really frowns on that sort of thing."'
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** I absolutely don't have time to write a multichapter right now…which is why I'm writing a multichapter right now. Hooray for good choices!

**Learning to Breathe **

The first night she spent in Patrick Jane's arms didn't go like she'd imagined it.

And she'd imagined it many, many times.

It had been an exhausting day. Two days, maybe. Things were starting to get fuzzy in her mind, and there were going to be many more hours before she could sleep to come.

Abbott got Jane out of custody ten minutes or so after he'd surprised the life out of her with his kiss. She'd hoped for another _I love you_. Instead, she'd gotten to feel the brush of his lips, the warmth of his fingers under her chin. It was…sweet. Tender, threaded with promise and affection.

After he'd pulled back, he'd rested his forehead against hers for a moment, his hand against her jaw.

"I love you," he'd breathed, eyes dark and intense.

She had been glad she was sitting. "I love you too," she'd whispered back, and she would never forget how his expression had stopped her heart.

They were on a plane within an hour, Abbott pulling whatever strings he needed to. He certainly was an efficient boss; she appreciated it especially now. When she'd told him she was staying in Austin, he had smiled mysteriously and given Jane a knowing look.

"As you know, all transfer requests were put on hold until the conclusion of this case anyway," he said, and there was a world of unspoken things in that sentence. "All I have to do is, well, nothing."

Jane found her hand almost as soon as they were seated, long fingers wrapping around hers. The temperature in the cabin was cool, and she leaned against him, quietly thrilled that she now could do this.

The preflight check seemed to be taking ages, but that could have been because she had never been so desperately impatient to get to her destination. Well, maybe that wasn't quite true. When she'd gotten the call that Jane was coming back to the United States, that she needed to be there to meet him in Austin…that had been a hideously long flight.

This one was shorter, but only just.

When they started to slowly roll down the runway, she sighed. "Finally."

Jane squeezed her fingers. "Anxious to get going?" he murmured. "We're just lucky some idiot didn't sneak on board and disrupt proceedings. I hear the TSA really frowns on that sort of thing."

She laughed softly. God, he had seriously chased down her plane on a runway and bluffed his way aboard to tell her he loved her. It sounded….ridiculous, cliché, and it was. It was also hopelessly romantic and very, well, _Jane_.

It was a quiet ride, still early in the morning. Once or twice, she had caught Cho turning around to steal a covert look at the two of them. She had smiled helplessly the first time as if to say _I don't know how it happened, either_. Cho seemed completely nonplussed, and vaguely alarmed.

Fischer had winked at her from the seat beside Cho, and she felt an unexpected wave of affection for the other woman.

About halfway there, Jane had shifted, resting his head against her shoulder, their joined hands on his leg. Instinctively, she leaned in, her cheek pressing into his curls, and she couldn't stop the sigh of contentment from ghosting past her lips.

She thought he was smiling, but she couldn't be sure.

When the flight attendant came around, she ordered coffee. To her surprise, Jane did as well.

"I don't know about you," he said, teasing, "but I'm a little worn out. Besides, I don't trust airline tea."

Still, his nose wrinkled as he sipped, and she grinned at his expression.

"I have no idea how you drink so much of that," he said, eyeing her nearly empty cup with something approaching disgust.

"It's an acquired taste," she replied, tilting her nose in the air. "Sort of like you."

It was his turn to laugh, and he pulled her close with an arm around her shoulders.

She had been in Jane's arms a handful of times before now, a dance or two, a some hugs, a few more significant than the others. But nothing like this – her arm around his waist, ear against his heart, listening to his even breathing.

His lips touched the crown of her head and she felt a thrill of unreality.

Were they…were they going to be in a relationship now? It was the most obvious step, the logical step. She certainly wasn't going to be with anyone else, and Jane…well, that went without saying.

She took a bizarre moment to imagine introducing Jane as her boyfriend. There was nothing natural about that scenario, and she fought back a second of hysteria.

"I adore you," he whispered, and she closed her eyes against the unexpected tears.

Suddenly, the flight didn't seem nearly long enough.

When they touched down in Austin, they had to separate. As Jane was the only eye-witness, he was needed at headquarters to give a proper statement so that the perpetrators could be interrogated with the FBI knowing all the details.

For herself, she needed to unpack. She had hired a moving company to take her belongings to DC. When her transfer had been delayed, she'd put a hold on the moving crew. Fortunately, this meant all of her possessions were still in her house. _Un_fortunately, everything that wasn't a large piece of furniture was in a box.

Which she now had to deal with.

Jane had kissed her in the elevator before she left the office, deeper than he had before, his tongue sliding against hers, one hand tangled in her hair, the other curled around her hip.

Before she'd known how it happened, her arms had been around his neck, pressing herself in to him.

Jane wasn't prepared for her enthusiasm, and he stumbled a bit. They righted themselves laughing, and she was profoundly grateful that they hadn't lost this.

"I'll call you when I'm done here," he said against her lips. "Can I come over?"

"Yes," she almost whispered, smiling.

She was still smiling as she pulled in her garage, but the grin faded when she walked inside and saw everything that was waiting for her.

Her shoulders start to ache and she hadn't even touched a single box yet.

_Prioritize_, she reminded herself. She had (hopefully) all the time in the world to complete this process. Just necessities first.

She opened a box labeled 'bathroom' and started throwing things back in cupboards.

Three hours later, her bathroom and kitchen were in relatively acceptable working order, and she was hunting for the box that contained her sheets. She supposed she could always sleep on the couch, but then again, she was a little hopeful that Jane would be with her and…

Another wave of anxiety.

Was she going to sleep with him tonight?

She had been engaged to another man not twenty four hours before. It felt…fast, a little wrong.

But this was _Jane_. Her Jane, the man she had secretly and not-so-secretly been in love with for the best part of a decade. She had taken bullets for him, killed people for him, lied to superiors, put her job on the line, had her heart broken by him more than once.

And now…what? Now she had him?

_Shouldn't_ she be sleeping with him?

A headache started to form in her temples. Maybe they should take it slow. Maybe she was worrying herself for nothing. This was a big step – maybe Jane wasn't ready for that yet.

Immediately, she was profoundly disappointed, which irritated her even more.

Finally, she found the right box. With shaking fingers, she pulled the sheets on, straightened the pillows.

Her phone buzzed. _Done. Finally. I'm going to shower, then I'll be over._

Shower. That sounded like an excellent idea. She was hot, sweaty, and felt vaguely dirty. But where the hell were her towels? And her other clothes?

It took her maybe ten minutes to find what she was looking for. Even though she hurried, Jane was still knocking on the door before she was ready. Slightly flustered, she let him in, involuntarily smiling as she saw his wet hair and freshly shaven face.

"Hey," he said. Was it her imagination or did he look a little unsure?

Apparently, neither one of them knew what to do.

She smiled at the situation.

"Hey yourself," she answered.

There was an awkward pause. Jane looked around. "How's the unpacking going?"

She grasped the safe, non-strange subject gratefully. "It's a pain," she said readily. "But on the other hand, I guess I know where everything goes, so that makes things easier."

"Want some help?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she told him, gesturing him in. "Grab a box and get started."

They worked in companionable harmony for perhaps an hour. She was trying to not get caught up in how unreal it all felt still.

Jane was attempting to hang one of her pictures over the couch, a beach landscape that reminded her of where she'd once been left.

She was sure the reminder didn't get by Jane, but he said nothing, just asked her if she thought it was even. They stood shoulder to shoulder looking up at the wall, trying to decide if the left corner of the picture needed to go up a fraction of an inch or if they'd just been staring at it for too long.

"I'm calling it good," she finally said, shrugging.

"_Good_," Jane said emphatically. "Can we call it a day? I'm starving. Anything to eat around here?"

"Um, actually," she started. "No." She'd cleaned out her refrigerator a few days ago, and she'd taken all of her non-perishable goods to the food bank.

Jane sighed theatrically. "Fine. I suppose this means I should take you out." He turned towards her, hands on her hips, pulling her closer.

Slowly, she leaned forward, cheek against his shoulder, fingers linked at the small of his back. He smelled wonderful – cologne and Jane and everything she had dreamt about for years.

His lips brushed the corner of her mouth. "What sounds good?"

She supposed _you_ was probably not the answer she should give. Even if it was true.

Dimly, she recognized that this could be their first date. Shouldn't it be special? Fancy?

Then again, did it even _matter_? The entire point was that she would be with Jane. Which meant the place was meaningless.

"Something easy," she told his shoulder, snuggling in closer. God, she loved being held by him like this. "Something where they don't care that I'm wearing jeans and my hair looks terrible."

"Your hair looks beautiful," he said, already playing the part of Good Boyfriend. "And there's a good Italian place not far away. It's pretty informal."

She turned her head, pressed a kiss against the side of his neck. His hands tightened on her hips. The idea that she might have some sort of effect on him was heady. Experimenting, she moved closer, planted an open-mouth kiss on the base of his throat.

He groaned out a soft exhalation.

"Behave yourself," he admonished. "Or you're not getting dinner."

If she had been a little more sure of what he wanted, what he saw happening with them, she would have pushed it, would have found his lips and wrapped herself around him like a vine.

As it was, she slowly stepped away.

He snagged one of her hands. Kept it the entire way to the restaurant.

It was dusk when they emerged, full from pasta and breadsticks.

And she was happy. So incredibly happy.

Jane had been flirtatious and teasing throughout their meal, and he had smiled nearly the whole time. She didn't think she had ever seen him this light and carefree before, not even when he had first come back to the states.

He drove back to her place, then asked if she wanted him to come in and he sounded…shy, maybe. Was that even possible?

The lights of her house seemed overly bright after the darkness in the car, and she squinted, the exhaustion of the past few days rolling over her.

But if there was ever a night she wanted to prolong, this was it. Their very first night as a couple.

And she was still nervous about what was going to happen next. She absolutely wasn't going to unpack anymore tonight, but she didn't want to give him up.

Fortunately, Jane took control of the situation. "Is the DVD player hooked up?" he asked, nodding towards the television still mounted on the wall. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Sure," she said, relieved. When he smiled at her, she noticed the lines of his face were deeper than they normally seemed to be. She wasn't the only one who was dead on their feet. But he still wanted to be with her – that much was obvious.

Her selection of movies wasn't huge, but she grabbed the longest one she owned, hoping to keep Jane as long as she could.

She flipped the lights off, noting Jane was already sprawled on the couch. Hiding her smile, she settled into the recliner as the opening credits rolled.

"Ahem," came an annoyed voice from behind her.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly.

"What, exactly, do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Watching a movie," she replied, far too innocently. She turned to look at him. He had one eyebrow raised dangerously.

"Come here, woman," he said, but his voice was soft, the tone she heard him use rarely, and only ever with her. "Stop teasing."

So she did, snuggling into his embrace, their legs tangled together. She could have cared less about what was happening on the screen. Indeed, she even turned on to her side, facing him, unconcerned with anything except for committing what this felt like to memory.

Her eyelids were almost unbearably heavy and he was so warm and smelled so good and she was just so content…

She woke suddenly, and just as suddenly, was aware that she was being carried.

"Shh," Jane whispered, and she absently noted that the house was totally dark now. "Just relax."

He tucked her in, then made to leave, but she caught at his hands. "Stay," she breathed, and there was a note of desperation that she should have been ashamed of. "I don't want to be without you," she added on, the wondered if it was too much, too fast.

But then he was sliding into bed beside her, jacket tossed on the small chair in the corner of the room.

"I love you," she murmured, settling against his chest.

Swiftly, he tilted her chin up, kissed her warmly enough to make her breathing hitch, then touched his nose to hers. "I love you."

She closed her eyes, curled against him. Remembered through her foggy, sleepy brain to thank God for giving her this.

She would have said a prayer for Jane, too, but she was already asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Holy smokes! You people and your reviews! You're amazing!

**Learning to Breathe **

**Chapter Two**

He woke in the near-darkness of early dawn, Lisbon's warm body snuggled into his. Blinking rapidly, he ran a hand down her hair, smoothing the dark locks back from where they had been tickling his nose. She murmured indistinctly and shifted infinitesimally closer, arms around his waist.

This was a hell of a way to wake up, and one he hoped to experience more often. Say, every day.

His muscles were sore, reminding him that it had been a rough several days and that he was approaching middle age, all at once. But still, he felt good, blissful even.

Finally, finally, the woman in his arms was the woman he had wanted for years. He'd managed to tell her how he felt, and then she had managed to surprise him on a scale she had never done before.

He had been unsure of how yesterday was going to go. Were they…a couple? Well, that was a stupid question – yes, they were. But how were they supposed to act? They had skipped several steps (like, say, dating), and he wasn't positive what the next move should be.

Lisbon didn't seem to know either, and the fact that she had no expectations made him feel a bit better. Instead, he'd simply tried to enjoy the day, being with her, touching her whenever he wanted, kissing her. It turned out to be a very good plan.

She stirred against him, and he studied her face as she slowly woke, green eyes looking sleepily up at him, so full of love and affection that he felt his heart stutter.

"Good morning," she murmured, stretching a bit. Now _that_ was a pleasant distraction, feeling her lithe body press against him in all sorts of interesting ways.

"Morning," he returned, arms loosely around her.

She smiled. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," he told her, and he had. He had drifted off with her perfume in his nose, her leg hooked over his. It was easily the most restful night he'd had in…forever. And the best part of it had been the remembrance that this was not the only night he could do this.

Slowly, Lisbon propped herself up on one elbow, looked over him at the alarm clock on the otherwise bare nightstand. With a groan, she flopped back down, arm over her eyes.

He followed, nuzzling into her neck. "You know," he said conversationally, "I'm sure Abbott would give you the day off."

"Jane, the man already kept you off of the no-fly list and gave me my job back. I sort of think that maybe I should stop asking him for favors, at least for a while." She sighed despondently, regardless. "At least it's Friday."

"True enough," he agreed. "All we have to do is muddle through the day and hope no one important gets murdered. Easy as pie."

That brought a smile, and he kissed the edge of her jaw. Then, just because there was nothing stopping him, he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her soft lips, delighting when she slid her hands into his hair.

He coaxed her mouth open, stifling a groan when her tongue touched his, feeling her fingers knot in the curls at the nape of his neck.

They'd fallen asleep mostly dressed, which was a pity. Still, he kissed his way down her neck, ghosting his lips over her collarbone, loving the way she shivered, nosed the swell of one breast, still damnably covered by her soft cotton shirt.

Her breath caught, and he couldn't stop his smile.

But he didn't know what was too much, too fast. Didn't know the paced she wanted to take. Sex was a big step, and he had some very real fears about it. She had twelve years of expectations and fantasies built up, as did he, and that was a great deal to live up to.

And not something that should be attempted in the ten minutes before they had to be up for work.

So he found her lips again, shifted to press his hips against hers, making sure she knew precisely how much he wanted her, and then pulled away, hauling her across his chest.

Her eyes were deep, glossy, and, for the first time since he'd known her, she wasn't bothering to conceal her desire. His earlier thought that this deserved more than ten minutes before work was rapidly deteriorating.

But.

No.

After so long, he had a few ideas in his mind, fantasies he was bound and determined to live out, and the timing was all wrong.

Soon, though, he vowed.

Hopefully.

With a deep, regretful sigh, he rolled out of bed. All that was going to get accomplished if he continued to lay down was a degree of sexual frustration that might cause him to spontaneously combust at some point during the day.

"I need to go back to the trailer and change," he whispered, leaning over her. Then he smirked, a world of promise in it. "See you at work."

Predictably, she was alarmed. "Jane, about work…"

He stopped her. Firmly. "I assume you're going to tell me to behave myself. Fine. I will, within limits. But if Pike got to kiss you at the office, I sure as hell get to."

Her eyes widened at his unexpected tone of voice, and the mention of her ex. However, there was no way she could argue with his logic.

"Just..." she started, searching for words. "Just tone it down, at least for a while. I have a feeling I'm going to be the subject of enough office gossip without you trying to ambush me in the break room or something."

Ah. She didn't want to be labeled as the FBI Hussy. To the people that knew her, knew them, Abbott, Fischer, Wylie…her decision would come as no surprise. But to those who didn't, well…there would probably be a few raised eyebrows and whispered comments. He didn't give a damn, of course, and he was a little surprised that she did, but perhaps she was still feeling her way forward in her new job.

"Alright," he said, quietly, and then he smirked. "I promise to not ambush you in the break room unless you ask me to."

Her gaze turned into a warning, and he cheekily kissed her, amused by her consternation. "See you soon. I'll bring you breakfast," he added. "After work, you really need to get some groceries."

Suddenly, her eyes widened in horror. "I don't even have coffee," she said, dread lacing every syllable.

Chuckling now, he reached for his jacket. "Leave it to me, sweetheart." The word rolled off his tongue without conscious decision, but it felt right.

She blinked an extra time, but other than that, made no acknowledgement of his term of endearment. He mentally noted that with an internal smile.

Fifteen minutes later, he was knocking on the front door again, turning the knob as he did so, cup of coffee from a nearby McDonald's in one hand, bag containing an Egg McMuffin in the other.

Lisbon was mostly dressed, open moving boxes strewn haphazardly around her bedroom.

"Your gourmet meal has arrived," he told her with a flourish. "I promise to cook for you one of these mornings."

He wondered if he was being presumptuous, or if she would think he was.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she said, taking a grateful sip of her coffee.

Time to push his luck further. "Tomorrow morning," he replied. "Scrambled eggs done to a turn, hash browns. And bacon," he added, correctly reading her face.

Lisbon smiled. "I can't wait."

He beat her to work by a full ten minutes, making sure the coffee pot in the break room was full. Then he brewed himself a cup of tea, settling in to his usual spot on the couch.

Everything looked different from the last time he was in this place. Before, just a few days ago, he had been so afraid that he was going to lose her, had been so wrapped up in his elaborate plan to seduce her, to get her to stay, that he had failed to notice that the only thing she needed was, well, the truth.

Not something he specialized in.

He was fully aware that _that_ particular quirk was going to have to change. It would take work, making himself vulnerable in more ways than one, but there was no question that she was worth it.

From across the bullpen, he saw Cho approaching, stopping at Lisbon's (still empty) desk.

"DC would have been a great opportunity for her," he said without preamble, expression predictably stoic.

"It would have been, yes," Jane agreed.

There was a moment of silence. Then, "I'm glad she's staying."

Jane grinned. "Me, too."

Cho sucked in a breath, like he wasn't certain about his next words, which was odd enough in and of itself. "I don't pretend to understand what happened between you and Lisbon. Maybe I'm too close to either of you to see what Abbott and everyone else apparently does. I'm also not sure you're good for her, but it looks like she wants you. So I'm telling you, if you mess it up, if you hurt her, I'll break both your kneecaps."

"Message received," he said quietly. "I have no intention of hurting her," he went on. "And you're right – I'm not good enough for her. I'm going to try to work on that, but I can't promise I won't mess up from time to time. So maybe you could exercise a little discretion in your knee-cap breaking escapades."

The two men looked at each other evenly, Jane trying hard to not hide any of his feelings, an unusual thing.

Eventually, Cho nodded once, then took a step back. "Just wanted to put it out there. I hope for both your sakes you figure this thing out."

Lisbon finally made her appearance, coming around the corner into the office. "Me, too," Jane said.

She smiled at both of them as she sat, though it was a little strained and he knew she was wondering if they were talking about her.

"Welcome back," was all Cho said before retreating to his own desk.

Lisbon turned to look at him, a question already forming.

He smiled. "It's okay," he assured her. "He was just…" threatening, warning, "confirming a few things."

She hid her expression behind her coffee cup. He'd gotten the biggest size McDonald's had, but he was sure it was almost empty by now.

And then she got to work, unpacking yet another box, refilling her desk drawers, scattering her knick knacks on top. It struck him now that she didn't have anything from him to show off, to keep in sight, to remind her of him when he wasn't there.

Of course, he didn't plan on _not_ being there ever again, but it was the principle of the thing.

Jane had spent several long, slow days waiting for people to get murdered, but this day felt like one of the longest. Lisbon was trying very hard to be absolutely professional, and he was honoring her wishes.

He only touched her once that morning, a quick squeeze on her shoulder after bringing her a fresh cup of coffee that she didn't need but probably wanted.

Self-restraint was a terrible thing.

They went out for lunch, somewhere close that ran daily specials and was frequented by a great deal of working professionals. Jane wasn't sure if he fit into that category, but they had good sandwiches, and Lisbon enjoyed her soup.

He'd taken her hand in the car, kept it as they walked to the door of the café, stretched his legs out under the table so that he was touching her.

She'd grinned and looked down, but certainly didn't move away.

The rest of the afternoon dragged. He was considering pulling the fire alarm to get them out of the building. Surely his watch must be broken. Time could not possibly be taking that long to pass.

When five o'clock finally (_finally_) arrived, he was on his feet instantly. "Let's go," he told Lisbon, stuffing papers back into case folders at random. "Deal with this on Monday. This has been the longest day I've gone through in years, and my reward for not dying is uninterrupted time with you."

He grabbed her jacket, slid it over her shoulders.

Her smile was soft, a little surprised, but definitely happy.

As soon as they were in the parking lot, he let out a deep sigh. "So," he asked casually, "what's the plan for the evening?"

Lisbon shrugged. "Um, I don't know. Grocery shopping and then unpacking? How's that for a roaring good time?"

Despite the fact that they were still on FBI property, he caught her hand. Brought her fingers to his lips. "I can't think of anything else I'd be happier doing." He was sincere. As long as he was with her, he didn't care.

The supercenter parking lot that Lisbon pulled into was crowded, as was the store. Still, he dutifully walked beside her as she pushed the cart, occasionally throwing an item in it. She got three different kinds of coffee, then grabbed two boxes of his favorite tea without him asking.

He beat her to the eggs, remembering his promise to make breakfast. Then he tried to talk her into turkey bacon. It was a losing argument.

It had been almost thirteen years since he'd done this, shopped for groceries with someone he shared his life with. It was…oddly moving, standing with her, going over the items they needed for the routine of everyday existence. He buried his nose in his hair for a second, surreptitiously blinking back an unexpected tear.

He offered to put everything away while she got to work on some more boxes. First things first – she opened several, sifting through items until she found the coffee pot. With an expression approaching bliss, she put it on the counter. He swore she even patted the thing lovingly before wandering off to the bedroom and starting to hang clothes in the closet.

An hour later, she declared herself finished with her wardrobe with a tone of triumph, and they moved back to the kitchen to empty the last few boxes that belonged there.

Nestled between the toaster and the dish soap, he found an unopened box of tea. _His_ tea, the sort he probably drank twice a day.

He held it up for her inspection. "I thought you gave all of this stuff to the food bank."

Her cheeks colored slightly, and he was suddenly aware that there was a story behind this particular thing. "Must've just slipped through the cracks," she said, far too lightly.

"Lisbon," he cajoled, loosely wrapping his arms around her. "Have I mentioned that you can't lie to me?" He kissed her temple, her cheek.

She sighed, rested her forehead on his shoulder. Her fingers curled around his belt loops. "It's stupid," she began, hesitant.

He waited.

Another sigh. "Alright. When you were gone, you know, in South America, I missed you. I missed you a lot." The words were coming out quickly, like she was trying to get this over with. "Sometimes, when it got too bad, I'd make a cup of this tea. I'd never drink it, but just the aroma of it made things a little less…lonely. Like, somehow, you were close by."

She never looked at him during this impromptu confession.

He ran his hands down her back. "And you were taking it with you to DC?" he prompted.

Her voice was no more than a whisper. "In case things got too bad again."

He swallowed, hard. Hauled her further against him. "I love you so much," he told her, breath ruffling her hair.

"I love you, too," she told him softly.

The idea that he had almost lost this…that he had almost been stupid enough and blind enough and cowardly enough to miss out on it…

He kissed her, deeply, thoroughly, hands roaming, caressing, every one of her moans urging him forward. Her lips were on his neck, fistfuls of his shirt bunched up in her palms.

He pulled away, their foreheads touching. Her cheeks were bright pink, lips still parted.

And he listened to his heart, what it wanted. "Let's go to bed," he breathed, lips brushing hers as he spoke. There was no mistaking his meaning.

He saw her shiver. Knew what her answer would be, anticipation singing through his veins.

Slowly, slowly, she stepped back, wrapped her fingers around his, and pulled him down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Hello there. The first part of this chapter is M-rated, so if you're not into that sort of thing, you might want to skip the first thousand-ish words or so.

Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed this so far. I'm a little shocked by all of your responses, and I'm trying very hard not to let you guys down.

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Three**

It wasn't until she flipped the light switch off that she discovered her hands were shaking.

In point of fact, she thought she was doing alright for the circumstances. Patrick Jane had kissed her like he was drowning and she was air, all hot mouth and deft fingers moving over her body, and then, voice soft, seductive, asked to go to bed with her. She figured most women would have been on the floor, so still being upright was a win in her book.

Her arms went around his neck, holding herself steady, just in case, and his hands fell to her hips, bringing her closer. For the second time that day, she felt him against her stomach. He wanted _her_…the idea was a fantasy.

He kissed her temple, the line of her jaw, the pulse throbbing in her neck. Dimly aware that she was supposed to be doing something other than just standing there, she slipped her hands under his shirt, and he shivered.

God, she had spent so many years thinking about this, being stupidly in love with him, someone she was half afraid of touching…there was a living, breathing man under those suits. It was easy to forget that, or it had been. She doubted she would ever do so again.

She undid one of his buttons, then another. Jesus, she was actually undressing him and he was actually letting her.

His heart was pounding underneath her hand.

When his shirt was pooled on the floor, he took over, fingers more nimble than hers had been, faster. Her skin was overheated; his touch gave her goosebumps, oversensitive body responding wildly. She let out a deep, silent breath when her shirt joined his.

The first moment of skin against skin was almost holy, something reverent. She felt rather than heard Jane groan, his arms holding her close.

Slowly, carefully, he took a step towards the bed, easing her backwards with him. Her hands slid into his hair again, bring his mouth down to hers.

She needed to focus on kissing him – that was something she was familiar with, something she could handle. If she took the time to think, actually _think_, about what was going to happen, she thought she would be lost to hysteria.

Abruptly, there was a mattress beneath her, Jane moving above her, lips trailing soft kisses on her bare skin.

Her clothes were gone – how the hell had that even happened without her noticing? They were doing this, they were really doing this…

"Teresa?" he asked, and there was concern in his voice, which seemed to be coming from a long way off.

"Teresa," he said again, "you need to breathe."

She sucked in a shaking mouthful of air, then another. Eyes adjusting in the darkness, she tried to look up at him. Dimly, she noted her heart was going painfully fast.

Jane noticed at the same time she did.

Swiftly, he rolled her to her side, curling up behind her, arms pressing her carefully against his chest.

She was an idiot – what was wrong with her? Why did this seem…so big? Such a monumental thing that she needed to get all worked up and anxious? She was ruining it for them, their first time, and she couldn't hold herself together…

"Shh," Jane murmured in her ear, cheek pressing against hers. "Just relax, sweetheart." There was that word again, the one he had used in the morning. She tried to make herself dislike it, but it was a losing battle.

"I'm so sorry," she almost stuttered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

His words were affectionate. "I do." He sounded so sure of himself that she couldn't help but believe him. He kissed her bare shoulder. "Relax," he said again. "It's alright," he whispered. "Just breathe, love, breathe. All I want is for you to be with me." Jane's voice was soothing, gentle, and she focused on it with all of her strength. "Just be with me."

His arms around her were warm, protective, and slowly, slowly, she felt her breathing return to normal levels. This was still Jane, the man that brought her apples and staged biohazard disasters to make her feel glad she was alive. Who bought her ponies for her birthday and new couches for her office.

She turned to face him, hands on his bare chest.

His eyes were deep, hot, but his face was utterly calm. She took heart from that – if Jane, after twelve years of near celibacy, could be certain about this, so could she.

She kissed him, arms around his neck, and he responded with surety.

Just be with him. She could do that. In fact, it was all she had wanted for years.

And suddenly, it was easy.

Jane rolled her to her back, the sheets cool against her. He kissed the pulse in the hollow of her throat, her collarbone.

His hand tested the weight of one breast, thumb teasing the hardened peak. She moaned softly when his mouth followed, hot and wet and deliciously talented.

He gently nibbled at her other breast, hand skimming down her stomach, and she felt another dark swoop of desire. She bit her lip when he touched her, fingers teasing and stroking and stretching and thrusting.

She dug her hands into the comforter.

His lips were moving across her ribs, leaving a trail of open-mouth kisses as he worked his way down. Even knowing what was coming, what his intentions were, she still let out a choked sob when she felt his curls between her thighs, felt the velvet-rough edge of his tongue on her sex.

She had never known pleasure like this, all-consuming, demanding that she feel it with mind and body and soul.

Her breath was labored, coming in short, staccato pants.

He looked up at her once, eyes gleaming wickedly, then slid both hands beneath her, lifting her hips, mouth everywhere, all lips and tongue and impossible sensation.

Before she knew it, her nails were raking his scalp as she tried to arch up off the bed, Jane anchoring her down. She swore he chuckled darkly, and then she was lost, shattering beneath his touch, consumed by blind pleasure.

When she came down, Jane had his face pressed against her neck, nuzzling into her, and she held him with trembling arms.

Then she slid her hand down his chest, lower. He was throbbing, so hard she'd had to gently pull him away from his stomach.

To be wanted like this…

She kissed him, trying to tell him without words how much she needed him.

He got the picture, nudging her legs further apart, and he moaned against her mouth as she sensually rubbed him against her sensitive flesh.

And that was the limit of his self-control.

For just a moment, he paused at her entrance, and she liked to believe that he was committing this instant to memory. He rested a palm against her heart, then kissed her swiftly.

He pushed forward slowly, but inexorably, his entire body taut with restraint. When he was impossibly deep, he stopped, and she knew he was gathering his control.

That would never do.

She thrust her hips, legs going around his waist, and he swore.

"Wait," he said hoarsely. "Teresa, wait, just give me a…"

She never found out what he wanted, clenching her inner muscles around him. The next heartbeat, she was flat on her back, his hands on either side of her head, his thrusts forceful, possessive. He no more found a rhythm than lost it, movements increasingly uncontrolled.

The headboard slammed against the wall, and she met him thrust for thrust. His body went stiff, breathing sharp, and he said her name, ending it on a groan.

When he finally relaxed, head on her chest, she wrapped him in her arms, glorying in the moment – his damp hair, heavy breathing, shaking hands.

She kissed his curls, and he turned his face to look up at her.

His smile was blinding, and she grinned back without conscious thought.

"Just so we're clear," he said, reaching up to run a thumb across her cheekbone. "That was so worth chasing down a plane."

She laughed. "You're an idiot," she said conversationally, still a little drunk on pleasure and the feeling of holding him. "What if you would have gotten stuck on the no-fly list?"

He shrugged. "Then I would have driven to crime scenes. You'd have to come with me, of course." His smile turned playful. "Think of all that alone time on the road in the Airstream. Lots of overnight stays."

Teasingly, she pinched him, and he responded with a chuckle. The sound vibrated through her chest.

In a minute, he shifted positions, her head now against his heart. Warm waves of tiredness were washing over her, coupled with the heat from his body, and her eyelids started to fall.

Jane kissed her temple. "Love you."

She tried to say it back, but her sleep-fogged mind garbled the words into unintelligible murmurs. That was okay, though. She had a feeling Jane understood.

He was gone the next morning, and she sat up, startled, before hearing tell-tale sounds from the kitchen. Well, he'd promised her breakfast.

Slowly, she got out of bed, muscles a little sore. His shirt was still on the floor. And, as cliché as it undoubtedly was, she pulled it on, pausing for a second to breathe in the traces of his cologne that clung to it.

Smiling now, she walked towards the door, but something caught her eye.

His wedding ring was sitting on top of her dresser. He'd left it there, knowing she would see it, that she would understand.

She blinked back sudden tears.

Jane was standing in front of the stove in just his boxers, pushing eggs around a frying pan, and she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, pausing briefly to raise her hand to his mouth and kiss her knuckles.

"Good morning yourself," she echoed.

"Yes, it definitely is," he told her. "Bacon's almost done," he added.

There was fresh coffee, too, and she poured herself a cup before settling at the table. In another few minutes, Jane joined her, handing her a plate and fork.

"Mmm," she said appreciatively after a few bites. "This beats out McDonald's any day, Jane."

He sat down his tea cup. "You know," he said, "After last night, I'm pretty sure you can call me Patrick."

Her cheeks colored. This was the second time he'd made such a request, though admittedly, he'd been high as a kite the last time. Clearly, it was something he wanted. "Patrick," she repeated, and he smiled.

They spent a lazy day around the house, though she did relinquish him for an hour or so while he went to grab things from the Airstream. There were a few more boxes that needed her attention, and she reluctantly sorted through them. Like she'd told Jane before, it wasn't so bad since she had just packed all of this stuff up. At least she knew where everything went.

She cuddled against his chest later, watching a House Hunters marathon. He seemed perfectly content, one of his hands stroking her hair, the other at her waist.

"I would have gone with the ranch style," he remarked once. "It had more character. And a bigger yard."

She raised an eyebrow. "Says the man who lives in an Airstream."

"Hey now," he admonished. "It's a perfect home office. In fact, it gives a new meaning to both of those words."

Playfully, she patted his chest. "That's nice. You enjoy your sardine can while I'm over here in my house."

When she looked at him, his eyes were soft. "Then I'll be here, too," he told her.

She quirked an eyebrow, and he went on. "Wherever you are, that's where I'll be. Honestly, I don't care if you never want to set foot in the trailer, as long as I can be here with you. I know it probably seems a little fast, and if you need some space, I understand. I'm not trying to be pushy or absolute," he added on. "I just want you to know how I feel." He looked uncertain, like he'd said too much.

Yes, it did rationally seem a little fast. Then again, she certainly didn't foresee a scenario in the future where she wanted him sleeping anywhere that wasn't next to her.

They were a non-traditional couple. Maybe it was okay to behave in non-traditional ways.

So she kissed him. "As long as you want to be here," she said quietly, "you can be."

Jane looked…hopeful, she decided. And happy.

Honestly, she hadn't realized how _un_happy he'd been until she saw him this way. She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck when he scooped her up and walked her down the hall again.

Then there was nothing else but warmth and passion and love.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Sorry about the delay getting this up! Real life has been just plain stupid, but hopefully things are getting less nutty. Thanks for your patience and support folks - it means the world to me!

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Four**

Although she hadn't given him explicit permission to move in, Jane rather felt as though she had. He understood that they needed to take things a little slowly for a variety of reasons. For one, she had literally just gotten out of a relationship with someone else. For another, he had been living like a monk for twelve years.

To that end, he had resisted the impulse to start storing all of his possessions in her house. He had no intention of staying anywhere other than with her – far from it. It just felt like the prudent thing to do. There was a great deal of things about their burgeoning relationship that had the potential to overwhelm; he didn't want to give her another.

He remembered her momentary panic during their first love-making session, a sure sign that her brain was working far too hard. Part of him thought the best plan would have been to simply hold her for the night, but another, long-denied facet told him that _this_ was what they truly needed.

That part of him had been utterly correct.

Lisbon was currently draped across him, dark curls spilling over his chest. His hand ran the length of her bare back, over and over, tracing the contours of smooth skin and fine muscle.

His breathing had finally returned to normal, as had hers, and he could feel her relaxing into sleep.

This would be the third night in a row they went to bed like this, and he thought he was probably already addicted to it. To the warmth, the sense of togetherness, and, yes, the pleasure.

He had made love to her five times now, losing himself inside of her each time, relinquishing the control he usually clung to, forgetting everything but her open arms and the way she said his name.

It was heady, perfect.

After the weekend they'd had, it felt a little surreal that they were going back to work the next day. Granted, their job wasn't exactly routine, and he knew at least Lisbon thought it was anything but mundane, but he hated to give up his time with her.

He supposed that was life now – just like everyone else.

He was luckier than most in that respect, though. Lisbon's desk was four feet from his couch, and he got to spend at least forty hours a week with her in a professional capacity. And now…now he got to go home with her, too.

For the first time in a lifetime, he paused to consider how very lucky he was.

Lisbon's lips pressed against his heart. "I love you," she whispered sleepily, and his arms tightened in response. She also loved hearing the words back, so he murmured into her ear, feeling her smile on his skin.

She beat him out of bed in the morning, and he wrapped his arms around her pillow as she slipped away. In a few minutes, there was the sound of coffee brewing, then the shower running. Normal, domestic noises that made up the background of every day.

He smiled into the mattress, stretching languidly.

Abbott was waiting for them in the briefing area, and he felt his heart sink a little. They had a case.

Lisbon was two minutes behind him, Cho five behind her. Although Abbott didn't look outwardly ruffled (Jane wasn't sure what, if anything, would have that effect), he was unconsciously tapping his fingers against his podium by the time the whole team was assembled.

A big case, then.

A state senator had gone missing, and during the initial investigation, an alarming amount of correspondence between him and a North Korean diplomat had emerged.

Cho spoke up first. "Sir, without trying to sound too cold, what damage could a state senator possibly do? Texas politicians hardly have access to the same information that US senators do."

Abbott nodded in acknowledgement. "Excellent point, Agent Cho. Normally, we would let the local police handle the missing persons case, unless they asked for our help. In this instance, they probably would. However, when not in session, our senator here happens to own a rapidly expanding military technology company. Last year, they landed a DOD contract."

There was the rub.

"What sort of technology are we talking about, sir?" Lisbon asked.

"Although the DOD was purposely a little hazy on the details," Abbott said, and Jane caught the hint of annoyance, "it was something to do with weapons calibration. In the end, I suppose the specifics don't matter. Whatever this senator was up to, we don't need the North Koreans getting their hands on it."

"Are we thinking defection?" Fischer wanted to know. She looked good this morning – her shorter hair suited her. Abruptly, he hid a totally inappropriate smile, because clearly Cho was thinking the same thing, but without his own lack of personal interest.

"As of this moment, that is our primary concern – discovering whether or not this disappearance was voluntary. Once we've established that, we'll be able to move forward," Abbott informed the team, and their dismissal was coming.

Forty minutes later, the team was split into two vehicles, Lisbon following Cho's identical Suburban out of the underground garage, heading towards the state capitol building.

At least, Jane thought, they didn't have to go out of state for this one. Of course, there were certain merits to the idea of Lisbon and a hotel room, but he was enjoying having something resembling a home far too much.

"Thoughts?" Lisbon asked, making a left turn.

"Hm?" he responded, pulling his gaze away from the window. "About this case or just thoughts in general?"

He smiled when she rolled her eyes. "The case, Jane."

He was _Jane_ again, he noted. But that was fine. The use of his first name was going to take practice, even if she only ever said it when they were alone. If he was being honest with himself, although he had no issue thinking of her as _Teresa_, his default mode was _Lisbon_. Perhaps they both needed work.

He hoped he wouldn't have to explain to their children why Mommy and Daddy called each other by their last names.

And that was a dangerous train of thought, one he needed to stop.

In time, maybe. Hopefully.

"Oh," he said, trying to sound amused. "The case. I think we'll know a great deal more when we see the senator's office."

Lisbon's voice was teasing. "Like, if we see any posters endorsing Communism, we'll go with the defection theory?"

His smile was bright. "Precisely, Lisbon."

The mood at the capitol building was tense; probably word had leaked out about the senator's disappearance, and his fellow politicians were on edge. Jane figured it was good for them- in his experience, lawmakers occasionally needed to be reminded that they, too, were only human.

His quick search of the office and the man's desk yielded a few clues, though not anything he shared with Lisbon. It wasn't her kind of evidence.

Cho ignored him as he clicked through an e-mail cache, and Fisher was busy interviewing staffers.

"I don't see any hammers or sickles," Lisbon noted, glancing wryly around.

"Nope," he agreed easily. "Let's go to his house."

"Jane, we literally just got here!" she protested.

"Meh," he responded. "Nothing worth seeing here anyway."

She relented, though he did hear her muttering to herself as they walked down the many flights of stairs that led to the exit.

Mrs. Caroline Watts-Marchbanks was the epitome of a gracefully aging Southern Belle. She had the hair, the looks, the figure, and the wealthy, influential husband. Jane was sure she had remembered to apply waterproof mascara this morning, not wanting something so blasé as grief to mar her appearance.

For all of that, she certainly wasn't behind her husband's disappearance. That much was painfully obvious. She might not have loved Senator Marchbanks, but she certainly loved being married to him. Besides, she had more power with him than without him. Married, she was the wife of a prominent senator. Widowed, she was just a middle-aged woman who had no one to take care of her.

"Ma'am, had your husband been acting strange? Even if it was just a little thing? Phone calls late at night? Seeming worried?" Lisbon was going through standard procedure.

There was a thought blossoming on Caroline's Botox-laden face. "Yes, now that you mention it. The past few weeks, Harry had seemed more stressed than normal, like he was wound up tighter than a fiddle. He was always on his phone, too," she went on, brows now furrowing. She hadn't liked that, hadn't liked his attention directed somewhere other than her. "I couldn't even talk him into a quick weekend out at the lake. He loves sailing," she added, as if it should have been obvious.

Lisbon's face was carefully neutral, a well-crafted detective. "Can you think of anywhere your husband might have gone if he was in trouble? Old college roommate? Vacation property? Cousin?"

Eventually, the wife remembered that there was a garage downtown that her husband owned. Restoring collector cars was a hobby of his, but one she disallowed on their property. Something about the smell of gasoline and engine oil.

"I would have thought the locals would have already been all over this place," Jane noted, buckling his seatbelt again.

Lisbon shrugged. "Me, too, but maybe they knew we were coming in and didn't want to waste their time. We would have interviewed her anyway, even if they'd already done so."

The garage was set in the warehouse district, the old brick and industrial steel making it almost indistinguishable from any other place here. Still, he got a distinctly uneasy feeling as they pulled up. He wasn't given to superstitions, so he assumed that his brain had picked up some subtle hint and was telling him to be cautious.

Lisbon was frowning in the seat next to him, and he knew he wasn't the only one who had a touch of foreboding. Ever practical, however, she shrugged her shoulders and got out of the car. He noticed that she had unbuttoned the flap on her holster, though.

They locked eyes for just a moment before she put her hand on the door knob, and wondered if he should listen to his instincts and call for backup.

As Lisbon slowly entered the building, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Cho.

_If you don't hear from me in five minutes, track my phone and get here immediately_.

He figured that was sufficiently alarming.

Four steps into the dim space, his phone buzzed.

It was Cho. _Timer started now_. _Five minutes._

Well, that was something, he supposed.

On his left, there was a bank of light switches. He looked at Lisbon questioningly, and she nodded permission. It wasn't like they had done anything to hide their arrival, so if someone was inside, they knew they weren't alone anymore.

In one swift movement, he flipped all of the switches, and there was a buzz as the fluorescent bulbs flickered on.

He blinked once, and then heard the tell-tale click of a weapon being primed.

It wasn't at him though.

Lisbon was slowly lowering her gun to the ground, hands held up in supplication. When she was upright, he saw the black metal of a gun barrel digging in to her temple.

He was unprepared for the shudder that went through him.

Her eyes were fixed on his, silently begging him to not do anything stupid. Rapidly, he looked around. There were two other men in the building, definitely not Senator Marchbanks. Apparently, they didn't give a damn who the two people that had just come through the door were. Not a good sign.

He estimated that two minutes had passed since Cho had started his countdown. All he had to do was keep them talking for…well, three minutes for the time to run off, probably another three for Wiley to track his phone, and then…twenty? Twenty six minutes.

It was an obscene amount of time to stall.

But he met Lisbon's frightened gaze, and cleared his throat. Her life depended on this. He had already failed the woman he loved once. He wouldn't do so again.

He started to talk, voice surprisingly even, amicable, doing his level best to get everyone else in the room speaking as well.

In the end, it only took Cho and Fischer fifteen minutes to come barreling through the door, guns blazing. There were a few seconds of confusion in the beginning, and Lisbon used the opportunity to duck, then seize her attackers arm in a brutal hold. The gun fell uselessly to the floor.

It was all over in less than three minutes.

Then, regardless of their potential audience, he wrapped Lisbon in a bone-crushing hug, his nose pressed into her hair, eyes squeezed shut in sheer relief.

Her hands came to rest on his sides, and he knew she was breathing deeply.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm okay."

She was trying to comfort _him_? Ridiculous. Still, she turned her face into his neck, and he felt a little tremor go through her.

Realistically, it wasn't even that close of a call. She had been through far worse, as had he. But it was all different now.

Eventually, Cho found them. "How did you know?" he asked without preamble, ignoring their embrace.

Lisbon stepped away. "Know what?"

"I got a text from Jane, telling me that if I didn't hear from him in five minutes to get her ASAP." He held up his phone.

Full of adrenaline and happiness that no one was hurt or dead or seriously injured, he was compelled to laugh. "You didn't wait five minutes," he told the other man.

"Absolutely not," Cho said, decidedly unapologetic. "I've worked with you for enough years to know that giving you any sort of leeway is a terrible plan."

There was a wall of flashing police lights outside, and he resisted the impulse to take Lisbon's hand.

"Meet you guys back at headquarters," Fischer told them. "We'll see if we can't get anything from these guys." She nodded at the three men from the garage, each ensconced in a separate police car.

The drive back to the office seemed to simultaneously take forever and no time. All he wanted was to be alone with her, yes, but not here. He was suddenly desperate to crush her against him once more, to feel her lips part, to run his fingers through her hair.

He realized belatedly that he was shaking with reaction, which was stupid, since she was the one who'd had a gun pressed to her head.

His eyes closed, and he reached for her hand.

Hours later, he knocked on the door of her house. The three men they'd arrested had done an admirable job of saying absolutely nothing, and Abbott had released his team around six, hoping that a night in jail would loosen some tongues. Jane doubted it – the men appeared to be professionals, but Abbott felt the need to do _something_, and this was as good of a thing as any.

Lisbon let him in, and he hugged her once more. She was still dressed for work, shoes and all. He glanced around her house – there was a half-full tumbler of scotch on the kitchen counter. She was coping in her own way, despite her insistence that she was just fine.

He also knew she didn't want to talk about it, wouldn't want to talk about, period.

That was just how Lisbon operated, so he figured he should just make sure she knew that he was there.

"Let's order in," he said lightly. It was still his job to take care of her, and letting her get too drunk on hard liquor on an empty stomach wasn't part of the description.

She tried to behave normally, but she was very…close that evening, legs wrapped around his under the table, leaning against him whenever the opportunity presented itself, and sometimes when it didn't. Fine, he could be her rock for a change. The ability to read her like an open book was very handy in this situation – he would hold her for the next ten hours if that was what she needed, and it seemed like it was.

Still, later that night, several drinks in, she had pressed herself against him while they laid on the couch, her movements suddenly urgent.

Her nails raked down his back, teeth nipped at his shoulder.

This was her affirmation – she was alive.

She pushed at his chest, and he let her do what she wanted, lying flat on his back. She straddled him, throwing off the rest of her clothes, hair falling in a heavy curtain around both of them as she leaned down to kiss him.

Her hips rolled, and his fingers dug into her soft skin. Too hard, he was sure, but he also knew that this was what she needed. Rough, heavy, intense.

Some of his own emotions came to the surface – fear, relief, blind panic – and he lost himself in the rhythm of her movements. She was here, she was alive, she was safe.

It ended soon, and she trembled as she sprawled across his chest.

He tilted her face up, kissed her sweetly, then smiled as she snuggled into his neck. He cupped the back of her head, fingers working into her hair, and she let out a soft sigh of utter contentment.

In the years before now, they both would have spent a night like this alone, stirring a drink or two, thinking of all the ways it could have gone wrong, how it could go wrong in the future. It would be a long, dark stretch of hours before dawn finally crept through.

And now, no one had to be alone.

It was a bit of a shock, realizing she had been as lonely and as empty as he had been.

Carefully, he rolled out from underneath her, eased her to her feet. She followed when he tugged lightly on her hand. It had been a long day, and the only thing he wanted to do now was to curl up beside her and fall asleep.

There was something blissful about being able to get what he wanted.

The sheets were cool when they slid beneath them, and he felt the wave of exhaustion crash over him as he sank into the soft mattress. As soon as their body heat collected under the covers, he was out, her cheek against his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **Isn't it summer break? Shouldn't I have more time? What? No? Sorry – I'm way far behind on, well, everything. Thank you all for your patience and support.

The end of this is rather M.

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Five**

The next day, the entire team spent eight hours trying to get the three men they arrested to talk. They tried everything – every persuasive technique they had in their arsenal. Jane volunteered to hypnotize them, and it was a mark of how frustrated he was that Abbott looked as though he might be considering it.

They were absolutely running out of time. The prisoners would be going into jail tonight to await processing, and Jane had shared a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't make it through to see daylight. That they had the night before was something of a miracle, but perhaps whoever they were working for simply hadn't realized their cronies had been busted in time to plant an assassin behind bars.

As for herself, Lisbon was fairly certain Jane was correct, like he was in most things. There were forces much bigger at work here, and she wished she knew what they were.

She huddled at her desk, rolling her neck, the stress she was feeling making her stiff and sore.

Suddenly, a warm pair of hands rested on her shoulders, and she instinctively leaned back into Jane's touch. Wylie was industriously working on something across the room, occasionally muttering to himself, but they were otherwise alone.

His thumb gently massaged a knot of tension, and she sighed gratefully.

"We're about to lose them," he said softly.

"I agree," she concurred, just as quietly.

Jane brushed her hair to one side, pressed a small kiss on her neck. "I'm going back in, one more time. I think I found a crack in the proverbial armor."

She turned to look at him. "How?" she demanded. "They haven't said a damn word all day."

His smile was a little tired, but still bright. "Body language." He squeezed her shoulders, then strode off across the room.

She sighed again, and it was very unlike the one she had given a minute before, then heaved herself to her feet. No one was going to talk, she was fairly convinced of that. She hated to accept defeat, but there was no point in bashing their proverbial head against a brick wall over and over.

Briefly, she thought longingly of home, of Jane tooling around her kitchen, of sleeping beside him, of feeling his curls beneath her fingers.

She entered the observation room, perching on the edge of the table next to Fischer. The other woman looked as tired as she felt. On her left, Cho was predictably stoic.

Through the two-way mirror, she saw Jane enter the interrogation room, recognizing his stride. He clearly thought he was on to something, and long years of experience told her to sit up and pay attention.

Cho, too, knew what Jane's demeanor meant. "What's he got?" he wanted to know.

Lisbon shook her head, eyes still on the glass. "Not sure, but he thinks he's found an in."

And damned if he didn't.

With a few well-phrased words, the man that had held the gun to her head, the first one they had interrogated, opened his mouth for the first time since he'd been brought in.

"You don't understand," he said. There was an accent, but it was slight.

Everyone in the observation room had become painfully alert.

"What don't I understand?" Jane pressed, eyes wide and guileless.

"It's not just our lives," the man went on. "The things our families have been threatened with…they'd give you nightmares."

There was a pause while everyone reevaluated their suspects' motivation. Shit. Desperate men made excellent henchmen, mainly because they were willing to do just about anything.

"You know we can offer you protection," Jane said carefully. "Your family, too."

The man scoffed. "Right. I'm not saying the FBI wouldn't offer protection," he went on, "but I'm saying that it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. They'll kill all of you, too."

That was quite the statement.

"I'd be surprised if they don't already know your name," he added, apparently warming to his subject. "Sleep with your doors locked. Not that it would do any good. Send your family out of town," he warned, and now his tone was ominous, hunted. "If there's someone you love, get them the hell out of here, unless you want to watch them die, too, and know it's your fault. Do you know what that's like?"

Lisbon was on her feet before she realized it, tapping on the mirror. She needed to get Jane out of there. Of all the words he didn't need to hear…

Cho understood what was happening. "I'll take over," he volunteered. "See if I can get anything else from him."

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully.

She was waiting for Jane outside the interrogation room, and the set of his shoulders made her stomach feel like it was filled with lead. But that was better than his face…it broke her heart.

He took a moment to lean against the wall, and she cautiously put a hand on his hip, not sure what he needed or wanted, but compelled to let him know she was there. A very tight, very strained smile was all she got in return.

He didn't touch her.

An hour later, Abbott told them all to go home.

Anxiously, she gathered her jacket, her bag, waited for Jane. His eyes were distant, heavy.

"Ready to go?" she asked, trying to sound light.

"Not quite," he said, and she knew he was lying. "Go ahead," he added. "I'll call you."

She didn't really remember the drive home. The house was too quiet without him. She understood that the suspect's words had affected him deeply, had picked at old wounds that he would always have. She even understood that Jane needed some time to deal in his own way, to sort out things in his head.

But she didn't have to like it.

She showered, pulled on yoga pants and an old t-shirt, poured a glass of wine. Then she waited.

An hour went by, then two.

When the third hour had come and gone, she realized he wasn't going to call, and that the chances of him showing up tonight were slim.

That was not an acceptable scenario.

She had spent so many years in California knowing that he was alone and hurting and unable to do anything about it. Life was very different now, and as unhappy as she was about the way he was handling the situation, she understood his reasoning. He had spent twelve years dealing in this way, and that trumped…what, six days of being with her.

She grabbed a sweatshirt and her purse and hopped back in her car. This wasn't Sacramento – she didn't know all of Jane's usual haunts, but she could only hope he had just instinctively retreated to somewhere he could be alone.

There was a light on in the Airstream, and she said a grateful prayer.

She knocked, waited.

He looked a mess when the door finally opened, jacket off, face a little gray. He did have the grace to look vaguely guilty when she stepped inside, and she supposed that was something.

They said nothing, and he met her eyes, clearly waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Instead, she stepped forward, put her arms around him. He was stiff at first, seemingly unwilling to touch her, but she persisted, pulling his head down to her shoulder.

With a sigh of surrender, he gave in, arms crossed over her back, nose against her neck.

She swayed them lightly, feeling him tremble a bit, her cheek pressed to his hair.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, voice muffled by her skin.

Carefully, she pulled him over to the bed, dropped beside him. His eyes were wet. Slowly, he reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm better with coping now," he said softly, voice hoarse, "but I was blindsided back there. Stupid of me, but there you have it."

She squeezed his hand, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"The guilt, the grief, that was all familiar," he went on, and she realized that he was actually opening up to her again, making an effort. "It doesn't make it hurt less, but it's something I'm used to. I don't think I'll ever truly be over it, but for the most part, it's not a daily thing."

He offered her a sad smile. "I wasn't prepared for the fear," he admitted, and her brows furrowed.

"Fear?"

His fingers tightened around hers. "You," he said softly. "For years, I didn't have anyone. Or anything, really. You certainly weren't mine, not like this, and I had only been really afraid I'd lost you once." She knew what he was referring to, when Red John had called him from her phone. "And today I realized that someone could take you away, too."

She pushed his tumbling hair off his forehead. "You do know that at least once a week someone threatens my life, right?"

He scowled. "Yes, I know. And it was bad enough when we weren't together. It's worse now…now I know what I could lose."

"Patrick," she said, and she knew she had his full attention now. "I understand that you're afraid. I hope that gets better with time, and I think that it will." Jane looked dubious, but she went on. "I also know that you're going to have bad days when something reminds you of your family, and that's okay, too. But I am not okay with you keeping your distance, shutting yourself away."

He pressed his forehead to hers, and she saw his eyes were glossy again. "Force of habit," he whispered. "And I think I had some idea that if I stayed away from you, you would be safe." He tried to his last sentence flippant, casual, but she knew that he had truly thought not touching her would be for the best.

She toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. "All that'll do is hurt me," she said frankly, and he closed his eyes. "Promise you won't hide out anymore," she entreated. "I don't care if you come over and don't even speak to me. I just need you to promise you won't be rattling around here, all alone."

There was a pause, and she swore the ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I promise," he finally relented.

"Good," she grinned, kissing his jaw. She had won a concession from him, and he had told her how he truly felt, no frills and half-truths. It was a decisive step forward.

Her lips moved to his neck, to the base of his throat. With nimble fingers, she started undoing the buttons on his shirt, kissing every new inch of exposed skin, loving when he groaned.

Carefully, she pushed him to his back, reaching for his belt, swatting his hands away when he reached for her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and she heard the tremor in his voice.

Her own was sultry. "You've had bad day." She grinned seductively at him, noting his dark eyes and shaky breathing. "I'm making you feel better."

She bent down, took him into her mouth, and heard his sharp exhalation.

"_Jesus_," he hissed, and she chuckled, wresting another moan from him.

His fingers clenched convulsively in the sheets, his hips flexing of their own accord. He was hot against her lips, hardness overlaid by silky soft skin. She teased him, kissing, licking, enjoying his reactions almost as much as he apparently enjoyed what she was doing.

She knew that after over a decade, this wouldn't take long, even if she wasn't trying very hard, and she felt his legs start to tremble.

"Teresa," he groaned. "You need to stop now."

"Alright," she breathed, deliberately misunderstanding. "I'll stop teasing."

And she did, mouth insistent, Jane's hoarse cries in her ears as he let go.

After, she curled against him like a contented cat, feeling very pleased with herself. _That_ had been very gratifying.

Jane's breathing was still uneven when he rolled her onto her back.

"You don't have to," she said, even as he pulled her shirt off, shimmied her pants down. She meant it – this had been about him. God knew the man had had precious little pleasure in his life.

He nuzzled into the juncture of her thighs, fingers hooked in her panties, tugging them off her hips. "I had a bad day," he breathed hotly, and she swallowed hard. "I'm making myself feel better."

She recognized her own words from earlier.

And that was the last conscious thought she had for a while.

Much later, they snuggled together under the covers, the trailer bathed in darkness. She was feeling boneless and blissful, even facing the prospect of spending the night in the Airstream. "You know," she said conversationally, "I don't think this bed is particularly lumpy."

He chuckled, and she felt the sound under her ear. "Now that you mention it, maybe it's not so bad. I think it just needed you." His words were a bit sleepy, and she knew he was emotionally drained.

She kissed the spot over his heart, smiled to herself when Jane pulled the covers up to her shoulders.

It was perhaps not totally unexpected when he woke up from a nightmare, tonight of all nights, and she was just grateful that she was there to hold him until he quit shaking. She had never been able to offer him comfort like this before, and she hoped ardently that she could be there whenever he needed her in the future.

He fell back asleep with his head on her chest, her fingers stroking his hair, and she was profoundly touched by the moment.

This had been their first obstacle as a couple, and she hoped they would emerge stronger than they'd been before.

"I love you so much," she told his sleeping form, even knowing he couldn't hear her.

It didn't matter.

She tightened her arms, ever protective, and she hoped fiercely that all of their bad days could end like this.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **Oh, look. An update that didn't take a week. Aren't you all impressed?

Thank you to all for the reviews – I live for them. It's always so fun for me, hearing what you guys are thinking.

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Six**

There was something satisfying about seeing Lisbon in his bed, he decided. Masculine pride, or whatever it was, rearing its primeval head. Either way, he was smiling when he woke, her small body wrapped around him.

She was incredible, his Lisbon.

He smiled in a very different manner when he remembered her technique for making his bad day better. In fact, for a while, he had been quite certain he was going to die of pleasure.

Their legs were tangled beneath the sheets, and he stroked her hair with the tips of his fingers. The clock on the bedside table told him he should go back to sleep, and he shifted, pulling her further across his chest.

He hadn't expected her to show up here tonight. His actions had hurt her, he knew that, and after his distance, he figured she would retreat to her own house. She had – she just hadn't stayed there.

When she appeared at his door, he abruptly realized how much he'd wanted her to do just that. He'd thought he wanted to be alone with his misery…thought the best course of action was to stay away from her, since he would inevitably cause her harm.

Rational thought had come into play, telling him he was being ridiculous. But the fear had lingered.

He was starting to understand that it was something he would always have to deal with. Not only was there a dark tragedy in his past, but his girlfriend was an FBI agent.

Girlfriend.

Now there was a word that would have simply choked him in the past. There wasn't enough significance attached to it, but they hadn't come up with a phrase that meant "woman you're sleeping with and never intend to be without but haven't been with long enough to talk her into marrying you."

So girlfriend it was.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He had never been so grateful for her warm comfort. It was a significant gesture, her being here. She wasn't a fan of the trailer, he knew that, but she had found him tonight, telling him that she was willing to be with him even when it was far from easy.

She had said the things he needed to hear, and some things that were difficult to listen to. He didn't want to be reminded that he was hurting her.

Lisbon snuggled into him, and her eyelashes brushed his skin.

He frowned, touching her face. "Go back to sleep," he murmured.

She said something indistinctly, perhaps just assuring herself that he was still there, then rested her head on his chest with a sigh.

The refrigerator was humming rather loudly, and he missed her house. While the important thing was that they were here together, he found he would have preferred to be together in an actual bedroom and a properly sized bathroom.

He was finally at a place where he could admit that an Airstream wasn't a home. Nor was a hotel room, or a dusty old attic in California.

He thought of Lisbon's clean, sweet little place, and he felt a twinge of longing. That would be home now. She'd told him that he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted. Well, he wanted the foreseeable future.

It needed something though. Something that told the world he was there, too.

He thought, one arm folded behind his head.

He made love to her gently in the rosy light of early dawn, unhurriedly, when they were both still warm and languid from sleep. His lips never left hers, and it felt almost spiritual.

Lisbon snuck out soon after, in search of work clothes and coffee, but he remained stretched out on the bed, sheets pooled at his hips.

Briefly, he contemplated what would have happened if they had gotten together while still at the CBI. He had thought about it, thought about it a great deal, and he knew she'd entertained more than a few fantasies.

He wasn't sure, even now, if it would have been a good idea. Lisbon would have healed him, really healed him, the way she was doing now, with her warmth and her love. More than likely, he would have given up on his quest for revenge.

And then he would have come to resent her for taking that away.

No, it was better that it had happened this way. Well, perhaps he could have done without Pike and chasing down a plane, but it needed to be after Thomas McAllister was dead and gone.

Even if there were nights he almost reached for her, almost gave into temptation, knew she would have followed wherever he led.

Instead, they had settled for eye sex and banter and the occasional accidentally-on-purpose touch. It had gotten him by, but now he didn't have to miss her or wonder anymore.

He left a bear claw on her desk and then set out to make himself a cup of tea. Cho was in the break room, filling an extra-large mug of coffee.

"Our three suspects were all murdered in jail last night," he said without preamble.

Jane blinked. "And good morning to you, too," he said absently. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"No," Cho agreed. "They were never going to last long, no matter what we did. We told the jail that they needed protection. I'm not sure where the whole thing fell apart, but we're looking into it."

He doubted they would ever find out who had done the deed. "Well, G-Man," he said, adding milk to his cup, "what's our next step?"

"The guy you finally got to talk last night," Cho told him, and Jane tried very hard to not remember how he had felt, "he gave us one or two leads. We're going to start checking them out today. A couple of names, a phone number…it's not much, but it's better than nothing."

He finished making his tea, grabbed a cup of coffee for Lisbon. "I have a feeling this is all going to get strange before it's over."

Lisbon was at her desk when he returned to the bullpen, bear claw already half-eaten, checking her e-mail. He wanted to kiss her, but this probably wasn't the occasion for it.

She glanced up when he passed by. "Thank you," she said softly, gesturing to her pastry.

"You're very welcome," he smiled.

"I'm going to get fat if you keep doing this," she added, face now serious.

He winked as he sat her cup down. "Just more of you to love."

An hour or so later, she went with Fischer to follow up on a lead, and he swung his legs onto the couch and tried to sleep.

She'd yell at him if he called already, so he carefully tried not to imagine all the bad things that could happen.

Abbott found him before too much time had passed.

"Heard you had a rough day yesterday," he said, and his voice was carefully neutral.

Of course, someone would have told Abbott. Strangely, it didn't really bother him. Dennis Abbott had proven himself a good man, to be someone who genuinely cared about his team members and their happiness. He wasn't asking to be nosy – he wanted to know if he was okay, and not just how it related to job performance.

"I did," he admitted. "But I'm fine today."

"Glad to hear it," Abbott said easily, and there was a trace of surprise, as though he couldn't quite believe Jane had actually confessed to being anything less than stellar. "I just want to tell you that it would be okay if you weren't. We, all of us, have things that touch nerves, that reopen wounds. It's sheer folly to not recognize that, and to not give folks the time they need to work through it."

"Thank you," Jane said, and this time, he was the one that was a little taken aback. Most cops he knew would rather die than admit to being shaken up.

Abbott nodded at him, then made his way back to his office on the other side of the room.

As per his request, Lisbon sent him a text when she and Fischer had started for headquarters.

_I think maybe we got something. We'll be back in a half hour. _

He glanced at the clock on his phone.

_Want me to order lunch? Or am I being tossed aside for some greasy spoon you and Fischer plan on stopping at?_

Her reply was almost instant.

_Already eating somewhere. Don't feel neglected – I'm ordering you lunch to go. See you soon. Love you. _

His lips turned up. He was coming to find he loved to be taken care of by Lisbon in a personal manner. She had always watched out for him professionally – making sure no one punched him if she could help it, made sure he didn't get fired – but she had now assumed the role of nurturing girlfriend.

It sounded cheesy, but it made him feel like there was a warm little flame inside his chest. Not scorching, not like the passion he felt for her, but comforting, like a warm bath.

_I love you_, he wrote back. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

Thirty five minutes later, she arrived with a roast turkey sandwich and fries, and he kissed her cheek before sitting back down on the couch. She perched next to him and stole a fry, her expression daring him to do something about it.

"So?" he asked, in between mouthfuls. "What's the plan?"

Lisbon sighed, sitting back into the cushions further. "Wiley is going to be going through phone records for the next few hours, I think. Unfortunately, I have a suspicion we're going to get a lot of dead ends and burner phones."

He nodded. "We're not dealing with your run-of-the-mill killers, Lisbon. These people are smart, and they know how to cover their tracks. Hell, we don't even know if Senator Marchbanks was kidnapped or if he defected."

She snatched another fry and he made a face at her. Something was going to crack open soon, he just had a feeling. Not all of their leads could be dead ends, not all of their searching would be fruitless. They were all too good for that. And he, Patrick Jane, did not allow cases to go unsolved. True, there were a few times in the past where the murderer had gone free, but he had known what happened, who the culprit was. Not knowing wasn't an option he could consider.

The FBI facial recognition software had given them names of the three men they had arrested, and this afternoon, their families were trickling in to the building to give statements and answer questions. It was funny – not one of them had requested the FBI come to them. There was something odd there, certainly.

He sat in for most of the conversations, noted that nearly everyone they spoke to was afraid, but not afraid enough to tell the FBI what they knew. Not yet, anyway. A few were teetering on the edge, mainly the women with children, and he hoped their minds would change soon, though not because of some great tragedy. There was quite enough of that going around already.

They left work at the usual time, but he kissed Lisbon goodbye in the parking lot. "I'll be over in an hour or so," he said against her lips. "I have a couple of things I need to grab."

She frowned, no doubt thinking of the night before when he had failed to show up at all.

He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, trying to at least reassure her with touch. "I promise. I'll be fast."

Though she looked a little skeptical, she let him go, and he hated how her eyes looked bruised. Well, he had no one to blame for that but himself.

He blew a kiss at her as she closed her car door, and her lips did twitch a tiny bit. He felt much better after that.

As promised, he was at her door in just over an hour. As he pulled into the driveway, he'd seen the curtains twitch. She was waiting and watching, no doubt hoping she wouldn't be disappointed tonight, too.

She met him outside as he strode forward, purchases in hand. "Jane?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Why the hell do you have a potted plant?"

He smiled broadly. "Because your porch needs some color." He sat the geraniums down next to the door. And now it would be his plant, his small added touch to her home, making it just a little bit his, too. "There," he gestured, inviting her to admire the picture it made. "Now it looks like someone who isn't a workaholic lives here."

Lisbon just shook her head, but she was grinning. "I tend to kill flowers," she admitted.

He chuckled. "I'm not surprised. I'll be in charge of it."

He took her hand, pulled her inside. "I bought new sheets, too," he said, showing her the bag. "900 thread count," he announced proudly, waggling his eyebrows. "It'll feel like were sleeping…or not sleeping…on actual clouds. No more of whatever you got on sale at Target."

There were alternate reasons for the sheets, too, purely stupid male ones. As in, he was now going to be the only man who had ever slept on them, the only man who would _ever_ sleep on them.

He had never been one of those openly territorial guys, the ones that always needed to be making out with his wife or girlfriend or yelling at other men for looking at her. He was more of the quiet and subtle type, constantly making gestures that seemed innocuous but put together were unmistakable.

For instance, men who had tried to come on to Angela had occasionally found themselves compulsively singing the National Anthem whenever someone sneezed in their presence thanks to a neat bit of hypnotism, or like when Lisbon had gotten fired and he had nearly caused a massive political crisis in the statehouse to get her job back.

There was spaghetti for dinner that night, as Lisbon proved to him she was capable of more than frozen pizza. It was nothing fancy, as though she was used to making it for, oh, say, three younger brothers, but it was good.

He banned her from the kitchen while he cleaned up, pouring her a glass of wine, smiling a little to himself as he loaded the dishwasher and wiped down countertops. He was realizing how much he had missed this, living his life with someone, and he was grateful all over again that she had gotten off that plane.

He swore, he had healed so much emotionally in the past week, more than he had in the previous twelve years combined.

Later, he was just pulling Lisbon towards the bathroom, having gotten a sudden and irresistible urge to see her naked, wet, and soapy, when both of their phones rang.

They both swore, and he picked up the cell with a sinking heart. Fischer was on the other end.

"Get in here," she said, and there was no levity in her tone at all. "We found the senator."

Lisbon was already half dressed by the time he hung up, and he watched her lovely freckled skin disappear beneath staid black fabric. It seemed such a shame.

She caught him looking, stood on her toes to kiss him quickly. "Later," she promised.

It would indeed be later. Just much, much later than either of them had anticipated.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** I feel like all I do is apologize for the delays in updating, but here I am, doing it again. Do you guys realize it's already part of the way through July?! I don't even know how that happened! I'd imagine there will be a couple more chapters in this one before we say goodbye, so stay tuned.

As always, I'll try to update sooner, but no promises.

Thank you to everyone for your continuing support (and you reviews!). You guys all rock.

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Seven**

The 911 call had come in about an hour before Jane arrived at the FBI headquarters, a feeling of mingled expectation and foreboding shivering down his spine. The local police, recognizing the missing state senator, had contacted the FBI immediately, and all the wheels had been put into motion.

He stole a quick kiss from Lisbon in the elevator, justifying the action to her by saying he wasn't sure when he'd have the opportunity to do it again.

When missing people became abruptly found, things tended to get a little busy for law enforcement.

The senator was sitting in an unlocked interrogation room. Jane studied him from behind the two way mirror. He was a good-looking older man, or he normally was. At this moment, he was rough around the edges: dirty hair, stained suit, bandages here and there where he'd been given basic first aid by the EMTs. He had a standard gray blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a cup of coffee in his hands. There was a half empty bottle of water on the table in front of him as well.

Dehydrated, exhausted, but in decent shape, Jane noted.

Interesting.

Abbott was the first one to speak to the man, trying his to project his best "we're here to help you" image. He did a good job.

Senator Marchbanks immediately began speaking, his southern accent more pronounced in his agitated state.

"I don't know how I got away," he was saying. "I thought those Commie bastards were going to kill me." His eyes were wide, a little wild.

"Let's start from the beginning," Abbott said gently. "Walk me through the whole thing. Take your time."

The tale the senator told was a complicated one, with lots of two-faced players and a constant stream of patriotic verifications. The senator was a veteran (by God!), and the very idea that those North Koreans would think even for a second that he would betray the United States insulted him down to the marrow of his bones.

Or so he said.

Jane read something a bit different. The senator hadn't actually sold out the US, but he had been tempted to. The North Koreans had promised him money and power, two of the senator's favorite things, and it was a very real temptation for the man.

In the end, he had held on to his principles, but it had been a near miss. Jane figured that's why he was in such good shape, all things considered. The North Koreans (if indeed they were even North Koreans) had suspected the senator was on the edge of defecting all on his own and they hadn't wanted to push it.

If Marchbanks had been as adamant as he told the FBI he was, he'd be missing some fingernails at the very least.

"How did you come to make your escape?" Fischer asked carefully. She had joined Abbott before the man's recitation had begun.

Marchbanks shivered. "I guess something must've happened, because all at once, most of the people in the…well, wherever I was, the compound, I suppose, took off. They didn't look real pleased," he drawled, eyes distant now, remembering. "They just left a kid with me, probably no more than twenty. I wasn't guarded all that close, and all I had to do was wait for the moment the kid was distracted."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Anyhow," the man went on, "like I said, I'm a veteran. I learned a thing or two in Vietnam. When the kid was down, I lit out of that place like a shot. It was in a real wooded area, so it took me a little while to find some civilization, somebody with a phone. I called 911, and I guess y'all know the rest of it."

This part, at least, Jane figured to be true. The story of the senator's escape was more than likely an accurate account.

Lisbon nudged him. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "He's not lying, not really. The first part of his story could be a little hazy, but he definitely escaped by himself."

"We have several FBI teams going over the place you were held, Senator," Abbott was saying. "You gave us some good directions. Hopefully, we'll find some answers there."

"My wife," Marchbanks said suddenly, like the woman had just now crossed his mind. Jane thought that summed up their marriage pretty succinctly. "Is she alright? I swear, if those sons of bitches laid a finger on her…"

"Your wife is fine," Fischer assured him. "We've had another team watching her since the case came to us. Was your wife threatened?" she asked, looking appropriately serious.

A muscle twitched in the senator's jaw. He might not have been madly in love with his wife, far from it, but she was still his, and he still felt protective of her. "Not to her face," he said, and there was an undercurrent of anger in his words now. "But they told me when they nabbed me that if I didn't cooperate, she'd pay a price. I've heard enough stories to know that messing with the families of the people that give them hell is sort of their style."

Instinctively, Jane reached over and touched Lisbon lightly on her back. She knew what he was doing and why he felt so compelled. She took a half-step towards him, close enough that their jacketed arms were touching.

He was assuming that the commotion that had sent the men holding the senator hostage was the news of their assassins (hired help? Henchmen?) being taken in by the FBI. Someone had needed to make sure the men died while behind bars, possibly several someones. The good people of Texas took law enforcement seriously, so it would have been a bit of a job to get men inside. Thus, the mass exodus.

Cho stuck his head in the door. "Just heard from the team on site," he said concisely. "We need to go."

Lisbon stopped to refill her coffee on the way out, and he snagged a drink from her dark blue travel mug. They had been awake for what was rapidly approaching a day now and he didn't have time to make tea. Still, he made a face as the bitter beverage slid down his throat.

Lisbon watched with a hint of amusement.

It was an hour drive to the middle of nowhere, somewhere west of Austin. The sky was still resolutely inky black, the stars above them cold and glittering. Lisbon's skin was nearly luminous in the darkness.

The compound that Senator Marchbanks had been held was just that – a compound. There was a series of buildings set close together, nestled into a man-made clearing perhaps a mile into the woods. The standard-issue FBI Suburban had bounced around on the rutted trail that led through the wilderness, and Jane had set his teeth against the jolting, hoping they didn't get a flat tire and that he wasn't accidentally smacked against the windshield.

The sodium lights that were scattered around the white buildings gave the whole place an unrealistic feel, and Jane felt as if he was having an out of body experience. Not a new feeling, that, but never one he enjoyed.

There were perhaps twenty FBI agents in blue windbreakers scattered around, and one of them approached Cho, giving him the concise version of what had been found. Though he was still too far away to hear the conversation, both of the agents had turned sharply, looking upwards. Jane followed their line of sight, and saw what was unmistakably a security camera.

Almost as if it sensed the scrutiny, the camera swiveled, then zoomed forward a bit.

Jane felt goosebumps rise on his arms. Clearly, the thing was manned by someone off-site. This was not a good discovery, and he heard the echo of the threats against families ringing quietly in his ears.

Whoever was behind this, they knew the agents involved now, knew their faces. It wouldn't be a great stretch for them to discover names as well, and he resisted the urge to grab Lisbon. There would always be a chance they wouldn't discover he was involved with her, and he didn't want to help the process.

The first building they entered looked nearly like an airplane hangar – wide and tall, with lots of open space. Judging by the tire tracks, it had been mainly used as a garage. Nothing much to see.

The next building had been converted into barracks, with several sets of bunk beds.

Lisbon looked down the row of cots with alarm on her face. "How big was this operation? That's a hell of a lot of sleeping space."

Jane was beginning to form a theory. "I wonder if this was some sort of training facility," he said aloud. "It'd be a good place for it – woods, lots of buildings, pretty isolated."

"Yeah, but for what?" she asked.

He thought _for whom_ was a more pertinent question, but remained silent.

There was a kitchen in the building, with cafeteria style tables pushed against the walls. One of the freezers was humming loudly, and he approached it with caution, already knowing what he was probably going to find. The outside temperature display on the appliance said someone had turned it to maximum cold.

With a regretful sigh, he flipped the lid open.

The body inside was very bloody, face only vaguely recognizable as Caroline Marchbanks, the senator's wife.

"_Shit_," Lisbon hissed, peering down at what once was living woman.

Cho was already on the phone with the team that was supposed to be surveying her home. When he hung up a few minutes later, his face was grim.

"They thought they had eyes on her. Hell, there were even agents inside." He looked as angry as he ever did, which was not much. However, Jane knew that he was seething.

Caroline Marchbanks' disappearance was oddly similar to Kristina Frye's, a lifetime ago, and he wondered if the woman had left voluntarily. Either woman, actually, but he only dwelled on Kristina for a moment.

Lisbon looked down into the freezer again, and he could see her detective persona slip on like a mask. She was compartmentalizing, doing her job, not affected by the sheer violence of what she saw. "She hasn't been in here for all that long," she told them. "The blood isn't all frozen yet, even with the freezer on high."

He didn't want to look again, so he took Lisbon's word for it. Instead, he turned to Cho. "The kid that the senator says he knocked out. Did we find him?"

The other man shook his head. "The team says they found no living people anywhere on the grounds. They did find a weapons arsenal a few buildings away, and evidence of a torture chamber."

Cho's handheld radio crackled. "We found the security system controls," a disembodied voice said. "You guys want to come take a look?"

There was nothing to be done for Caroline Marchbanks now, so after radioing for the coroner and some agents to guard the scene, they headed out.

In the darkness beyond the bright lights of the compound, there was a crackling of twigs. Instantly, Lisbon and Cho pulled their weapons, communicating silently their plan of action. Jane, like always, ducked down behind, knowing that a shootout was absolutely the last place he should be, the last place where he could do any good whatsoever.

From his hiding spot, he watched Lisbon carefully creep around the side of a smaller building, the kind where lawn mowers were kept, Cho a few steps beside her.

When they vanished from his line of sight, he realized he was holding his breath.

Distantly, he thought he heard the sound of footsteps on the ground, but it could have been in his imagination. Then, for a long time, there was no sound at all.

He waited for Cho and Lisbon's reappearance. Could picture it in his mind – they'd both look suspicious and frustrated, holstering their weapons with a last furitive look behind them. After all, there had been no shouting, no gunfire, so they'd obviously not found what they were looking for.

He was still waiting when his phone rang with an update from Fischer. He ignored the call, but kept his phone out, watching the clock.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Six minutes.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he sprinted back to the last building they had been in, demanding to know if any of the other agents on scene had heard from Cho or Lisbon in the past five minutes.

No one had, and all the communication on the hand-held devices would have been heard by everyone. If there had been any, that was.

He immediately pulled another two agents away from the scene, and with guns drawn, they started down the same course Cho and Lisbon had taken a few minutes earlier.

This time, they came back.

But there was no one else with them.

Jane fought to control his mounting panic.

In a half hour, there was an FBI helicopter sweeping the air, searchlight illuminating the wooded ground below, but they saw nothing more notable than a few deer.

At dawn, the search team began combing the woods on foot. He hoped they weren't found. If they were, it probably meant death, since he didn't think it was feasible to believe Lisbon and Cho had found no means of contacting them or attracting someone's attention.

He could not address the possibility that Lisbon might be dead.

He was an intelligent man – he knew it was one outcome of this scenario. But when he tried to consider it, his mind simply stopped, thoughts replaced with a blank fog. It was his brain's way of protecting itself, and of protecting his heart.

Two hours after the sun had fully come up, Fischer was standing beside him. He found he had no recollection of when she'd arrived. It seemed vastly unimportant.

"Do you think they're out there?" she asked very quietly, not looking at him.

"I hope not," he said honestly, surprised at how even his voice was.

In another twenty minutes, they were approached by a small group of agents, and he felt his heart start to pound. They had clearly found something, and he held on to his self-control with every fiber in his being.

"Agent Fischer," one of them said, something in his hand. "We found these about two miles in."

Blankly, Jane reached for the objects. They were FBI wallets, complete with badges and IDs. Lisbon's cross was wrapped around hers.

"They were all found in separate places," the field agent told them.

There were two scenarios that immediately sprang to mind.

The first was that Lisbon and Cho were trying very hard to leave them a trail, something that gave away their general direction.

The other thought was deeply disturbing.

There was always the possibility that whoever had taken them had thought it prudent to get rid of all identifying objects. In his experience, that meant someone was planning on creating a corpse.

His fingers shook as he tucked Lisbon's necklace in his pocket.

He needed to see it back on her, the fine chain wrapped around her slender neck, the gold cross nestled against her collarbone. That was where it belonged, after all.

His vision was beginning to blur around the edges, exhaustion and panic warring for dominance. But he focused on what needed to be done.

There was no body, the teams had found no blood, nothing to suggest injury or death.

He held onto that.

She needed him now, as did Cho, and he would not give into the darkness that was threatening to close in.

Two years ago, he had thought that he had lost her. He had not.

He could only hope the same would hold true now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Eight**

The whole world was dark, or that was how it seemed.

She had a dim recollection of a starry night, and perhaps some woods. If she strained, she could remember a sudden movement on her left, but her mind was too languid to put forth the effort to really consider what was going on.

There was another presence with her in the darkness, another warm body.

But she was too gone to pay attention.

**XxXxXxX**

Her head throbbed, like she had a hangover. Her mouth tasted like mold, and she was fairly certain there was something sticky on her face.

With great determination, she opened her eyes.

It was still dark, but a less oppressive gloom than what had been playing behind her lids. After a moment, she could make out a few things.

The first of which was Cho, his dark head an inch from her thigh.

Even in the dimness, she knew he was in bad shape.

Abruptly, she remembered what had happened to put them in this position, and she sucked in a deep breath, willing herself to find a way out of this mess.

Her hands weren't bound, something she found strange.

Slowly, gingerly, she reached for Cho, relieved that he responded a little to her touch and her voice. With some maneuvering, his head came to rest in her lap, and she checked for injuries as best she could. Which wasn't very well, she admitted.

He was bleeding sluggishly from a wound on his scalp, and he winced when her fingers grazed his ribs. She didn't know if they were broken or just bruised, but she hoped nothing would cause a punctured lung.

The phrase _internal bleeding_ flitted through her brain, and she swallowed the urge to scream.

"Kimball," she said softly, "you and I are getting out of this. We're going to be just fine. Promise me you'll hang in there."

He squeezed her leg, just a touch. "Promise," he replied in a hoarse whisper, and she felt a very, very little bit better. "They'll be coming for you soon," he added, and whatever good feeling she'd had evaporated.

Stupidly, belatedly, she put the pieces together.

Cho was in so much worse condition because whoever had abducted them had already worked him over. For what, she didn't know, but she had horrible suspicion she was going to find out. In all of her years of law enforcement, she had never been physically tortured. Sure, she'd taken her share of punches and even a bullet, but never actual sadistic torture.

She made herself stay calm, reminded herself that Cho had survived it already. Gently, she rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, his shoulders, anything she could think of to make him feel even slightly better.

Abruptly, she heard voices outside, felt Cho tense, did the same.

There was a loud clang, then the door, hidden from her sight in the darkness, opened wide. The sudden influx of light made her squint, made her feel even more at a disadvantage than she already was. She knew it was nothing but intentional.

"Well, good morning," a voice said, and there was no trace of a foreign accent, unless you counted Southern.

She said nothing, just blinked, trying to regain some balance.

"Your friend here didn't have much to say for himself. We're sure hoping you don't prove to be so…close-mouthed." The man speaking had a ski mask on, and she had to stop herself from making a snide remark about clichés.

Two pairs of hands seized both of her arms, pulling, and she spared a minute to feel sorry as she heard Cho's head land on the concrete floor.

The room she was in was terrifyingly bright, encased in brick. She saw no windows when she glanced around. There was very little else in the room.

Except a chair. An ominous looking chair, wound with manacles and straps.

Next to it, there was a tray full of things she absolutely refused to look at.

She found she was too scared to say a prayer.

The straps on the chair dug into her skin as they were buckled, tightened. A light was focused on her face, obscuring her view of anything beyond it.

"Now," the same voice that had been speaking earlier, "tell us what you know about the weapons calibration."

She swallowed, mouth feeling like it was full of sawdust.

"Not a thing," she said, voice full of honesty. "I don't know a thing about it."

The man's tone became condescending, like he was talking to a child. "Now, honey, we know better than that. Why the hell would the FBI be involved if there was nothing to know?"

"We were just concerned about the senator," she told him, squinting. "That was our only priority."

"I find that hard to believe," the masked man told her. "No ransom note, no sign of foul play. The FBI shouldn't have been involved for another week, at the very earliest."

Shit.

"There was evidence that he had been in contact with some North Koreans," she said. The longer she talked, the longer they held off from doing…whatever it was that they were planning on doing.

"Now that's what your friend told us," and she closed her eyes. It hadn't done Cho a damn bit of good, talking. "And we know that y'all know about the DOD contract the senator's company had. So let's all stop pretending you were interested in anything other than that technology, finding it and keeping it safe for the government."

"I swear," she whispered. "We don't know anything about the actual technology. The DOD never told us."

The man was skeptical. "You're asking me to believe that after Senator Marchbanks escaped from those idiots at the compound, he didn't immediately hand over his plans to you feds? Not a very like scenario, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

Jane had called her that, but the words sounded so different now that she could hardly credit it with being the same phrase. Jane had been sweet and full of love and affection.

Jane.

She needed to get back to him. She _would_ get back to him. Her loss was devastate him, would be the end of the Patrick Jane she loved.

And she _would not_ be the cause of his destruction.

She tried to focus.

Whoever had her wanted the weapons calibration technology that Senator Marchbanks had. He had apparently escaped with them.

It made sense now, Caroline Marchbanks' death. These people had assumed the senator's wife would know something.

And now, they were assuming she and Cho knew something as well.

She had a suspicion that nothing she said would convince them otherwise.

The questions continued to come, and she answered as honestly as she could, all the while understanding that it would do no good.

When she felt the first blow come, she bit down on her lip, determined to not let the bastards hear her cry out. She would not give them the satisfaction.

She managed to hold onto that resolution for perhaps ten minutes.

But then she couldn't stop the screams.

**XxXxXxX**

In Austin, Jane was almost to the point of strangling someone else to death. It was a literal statement – if Marchbanks didn't give them _all_ of the information he had, Jane was _literally_ going to walk into the interrogation room and _literally_ choke the life out of the man.

Lisbon and Cho were out there, suffering, possibly dead, and this moron was sitting here, telling half-truths to the FBI.

Beside him, Fischer kept tapping her fingers against each other, one leg bouncing up and down in her agitation.

He could hardly begrudge her the gestures.

The small trail that had been discovered near Lisbon and Cho's badges had ended at a two-lane highway that bordered the forest. Wiley had said something about helicopters and satellites, and had hurried over to his desk, looking as determined as anyone had ever seen him.

As for himself, Jane was keeping a ferociously tight grip on his demons. He needed to be laser sharp now, even if he wanted to curl up into a ball and howl with misery.

He had been there before – he knew precisely what would happen when he let his guard down.

The anguish hovered around his periphery, just waiting.

Abruptly, he had had enough.

With long, purposeful strides, he walked out of observation, yanked the door open to the adjoining room. Abbott looked surprised to see him, and more than a little wary. Jane ignored him, focusing instead on the senator.

"Listen to me, you worthless, cowardly son of a bitch," he hissed, voice deadly serious. "Either you start telling us absolutely everything you know, or I swear to God, I will start pulling your fingernails out. Those two FBI agents that were taken mean more to me than anyone else on this planet, and I am not above doing some pretty horrible things to get them back."

His tone left no doubt of his honesty.

The senator looked at Abbott, perhaps for reassurance. Instead, Abbott simply nodded at Jane, his own frustration and desperation becoming evident, and left the room, pausing to close the blinds on his way out.

"Huh," Jane said, deadpan. "Apparently, he doesn't care what happens to you either, you lying sack of shit." The venom was back.

Marchbanks looked utterly afraid.

"Talk," Jane said. "Now. Or I will make you."

In the end, he left the room a half hour later, satisfied that he had gotten most of the truth, enough to do them some good.

He found Wiley.

"Focus on an area southeast of the city," he told him, going by what the senator had told him. "We're looking for a warehouse owned by someone named Edwin Hartley."

With a few keystrokes, Wiley had the area highlighted on the map, redirecting satellites overhead.

Fischer was standing over their shoulders, and as soon as a location popped up, she was yelling for Abbott and a team simultaneously, already shrugging out of her suit jacket.

Jane related the gist of the story to her as they half jogged to the parking garage. "Edwin Hartley is a self-proclaimed American patriot," he said, eyes straight ahead. "He and Marchbanks go way back. Marchbanks had the weapons technology Hartley was after, and he hoped the senator would see fit to pass it along."

Fischer frowned, pausing a second to fasten her Kevlar vest. "What did Hartley want with it?"

Mouth set in a grim line, Jane continued. "Hartley is basically a terrorist. Marchbanks told me that Hartley was unhappy with the public sentiment about the Texas Islamic community at the moment, mainly that people weren't bigoted and afraid."

It didn't take a genius to figure out what would have come next.

"Hartley was planning an attack," Fischer said. "A big one, if he wanted technology that the DOD was interested in."

"Bingo," Jane replied. "It would have been huge. American embassy in a foreign country huge. And he was going to link it back to an imagined terrorist cell based in Austin."

Naturally, there was no such thing in Austin. Innocent people had been set to take the fall for this.

"Where did North Korea come in?" Fischer asked, climbing in the driver's seat.

"Diversion," Jane said. "Marchbanks was set to defect to Hartley's way of thinking totally. He was going to disappear. North Korea was another good scapegoat, and Hartley thought it would be good if there would be more animosity built between them and the US."

The sirens flipped on as they pulled out of the parking structure.

"That's one hell of an elaborate plan," Fischer remarked.

Jane shrugged, but he felt anything but off hand. "Psychopaths are terrifyingly intelligent sometimes."

Traffic got out of their way, and he tried to keep his anxiety at a manageable level.

"How'd you get him to talk? Marchbanks?" Fischer wanted to know.

Jane gave her a very tight, very brief smile. "Persuasion." He hadn't touched the man. He hadn't had to. The mind was powerful enough tool in and of itself, and Jane was excellent as using the weapons at his disposal.

Fischer turned left and headed south, picking up speed on the interstate.

_Hold on, Lisbon_, he thought fiercely. _Just hold on_.

**XxXxXxX**

She huddled next to Cho in the darkened closet once more, her head on his shoulder, tears of pain and misery and despair tracking down her cheeks.

There was definitely something wrong with her breathing, and she tried to not think of what sort of internal injuries she had.

No point in scaring herself further.

Her cheekbone was probably broken, and so were a few of her fingers.

But she had survived this round.

She didn't know if she would manage it the next time.

Cho's arm was around her, and she took a second to be grateful for his presence, as much as she wished she could save him from this. She couldn't, not now, so she might as well be thankful she didn't have to face this alone.

For many years, she had been prepared to someday meet her end at Cho's side. She would have been proud and honored to do so.

She just hadn't ever thought it would be like this.

Of course, people very rarely got to choose how they went.

Cho squeezed her fingers gently. "Just keep breathing," he told her.

"Same to you," she whispered.

Her body felt so, so heavy, but she was too afraid to go to sleep.

The voices were back, and she nearly choked on the sudden fear. So soon? They would take Cho this time. She didn't know if he would make it through.

When he started to speak, she knew he didn't think he would. "Boss," he said hurriedly, lowly, and she felt a rush of affection towards the other man. "This isn't how I would have picked to go, but I'm honored to be with you."

For Cho, this was an elaborate speech, and she impulsively kissed his cheek. "I feel the same way," she told him. "The exact same way. But stay strong," she said, refusing to give up, even now. "We're not dead yet."

"Not yet," he echoed, and she hoped she heard a thread of determination in his whispered words.

The voices changed, became more urgent. This was different than before. Though her haze of pain, she became aware that something was wrong.

She didn't know what to hope for.

There was yelling now, loud, authoritative yelling, and she recognized what was being said.

"_Freeze! FBI!"_

If she had any energy left, she would have wept with relief.

"Here!" Cho yelled, or tried to yell. "We're in here!"

With her last bit of strength, she kicked her heels at the metal door, praying someone would hear the pounding.

Footsteps approached, and she dropped her legs, exhausted to the marrow of her bones.

She didn't recognize the man who opened the door, but his vest said FBI, and she had never been happier to see anyone in her entire life, possibly excluding Jane after his exile in South America.

"Agent Lisbon, Agent Cho," the man said. "Are you two alright?"

"I don't think so," she said, quietly.

The other man nodded. "The ambulance is already on the way."

She had a moment of sheer terror when Cho slumped beside her, but her shaking fingers found a pulse almost immediately, and the agent assured her he had just passed out.

Fischer appeared in her line of sight, her face deathly worried as she took in the sight in the closet. Immediately, she knelt beside them, weapon holstered. "Jesus," she whispered.

"It looks worse than it is," she was compelled to say, though she very much doubted that was the case.

In another minute, Jane was there, and she didn't recognize the look he was wearing. She forced herself to try to smile, but it came out all wrong.

Carefully, very carefully, he managed to sink down to her level, casting one glance at Cho on his way. He looked as though he wasn't sure where he could touch her, and like he desperately wanted to.

With supreme effort, she found his fingers.

His grip was far too tight, but she just couldn't summon the energy to tell him so.

As she was being loaded into the second ambulance that arrived on the scene, she realized she hadn't heard Jane speak, not once, and she realized she should be worried about that.

And then the morphine took effect, and she blessed the blissful numbness that allowed her to close her eyes without fear.

It was over.

She could deal with anything else.

Her last thought before she drifted off into the hazy sea of medication was how nice it would be to wake up and realize this had all been a dream.


	9. Chapter 9

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Nine**

It was almost three hours before he was allowed to see her. After all, he wasn't family. Wasn't her fiancée or husband. He was simply the boyfriend, and he hadn't been that for very long. It didn't matter that he knew her better than anyone else ever would in this lifetime, knew that she secretly liked bad pop music from the 90s or that she had every line to _Gone With the Wind_ memorized.

She had looked awful the last time he'd seen her, battered and bruised and bleeding. She had been poignantly exhausted, almost beyond the point of caring, and frankly, he had been terrified. Cho had been in similar condition, and he wondered what had been done to them. He had a fierce imagination – he could think of some awful scenarios.

But she was alive.

He tried to keep that in perspective.

Yes, she would be in rough shape for some time, but she was alive. Breathing, moving, existing.

When he was finally allowed back in her room, she was asleep, dark hair standing out against the stark white of the hospital linens. She looked very pale, and the shadows under her eyes were pronounced.

There was a purple bruise standing out in sharp relief on one swollen cheek, and he felt a shiver of rage. It was fractured, he had been told.

Some of her ribs were cracked, and he knew they had been worried about internal bleeding, but the scans had all shown up negative. She also had a great deal of bruising and cuts that marred her soft skin.

The very idea that someone was capable of beating her, of hitting her over and over again to cause that sort of damage…

He almost choked on his anger.

And his agony, the anguish he felt for her.

Slowly, he pulled the standard hospital-issue vinyl chair to her bedside, close enough that he could reach out and touch one of her hands. He did then, very, very gently. Her skin was dry, and rather cold.

There was movement from the bed, and he watched as her eyelids fluttered open. She looked confused for a moment, then her gaze focused on him.

He didn't have it in him to smile.

The silence hung between them.

"Cho?" she finally whispered, lips cracked.

"Next door," he breathed back. "He'll be alright."

She nodded, then winced.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "I can get a nurse."

With what looked like a great effort, she slid her hand up his arm, to his shoulder, the back of his neck. It felt wonderful and terrifying to be touched by her now.

"Just you," she murmured with the ghost of a smile that he still couldn't return.

Being careful of her IV, he pulled her hand away, kissed her bruised knuckles. "I'll be here," he promised.

She eased back against the pillows with a grateful sigh, closing her eyes again, hand relaxing as it fell from his grasp. He could feel her sheer and utter exhaustion.

But, like some sort of addict, he needed her touch again. She was hurt and he had no right to want comfort, but he did. And he found he couldn't help being selfish in this moment.

He leaned forward until he could rest his head on her mattress, cheek pressed against the knit blanket. His arm went across the middle of her thighs, a part of her he thought wasn't too badly damaged.

Her fingers slipped into his hair, something he hadn't expected, and he squeezed his eyes shut, face contorting as she ruffled his curls.

He only hoped she was asleep before his shoulders started to shake.

XxXxXxXxX

It was light the next time her eyes opened, and she recognized the standard hospital surroundings instantly.

She usually disliked the places, but it seemed a little closer to heaven today. She was clean, bandaged, warm, all immensely desirable things.

Jane was half across her legs, his neck at an angle she suspected would cause him considerable discomfort when he woke up. Still, she was glad of his presence.

She was a little afraid to move, knowing that she was definitely going to be in serious pain when she did so.

Experimentally, she stretched a bit, grimacing when she discovered that she was absolutely correct in her hypothesis.

Jane, disturbed by her movement, however slight, sat up slowly, and she noted his hand went immediately to his neck.

"Hey," he said instantly, seeing she was awake, his voice scratchy.

"Hey yourself," she echoed, wondering how this morning was going to go. They had hardly spoken the night before, and she still wasn't sure of his emotional state. She knew that he had come very close to reliving one of his worst nightmares yesterday.

Had the FBI taken any longer to find them, he probably would have.

"How're you feeling?" Jane asked, eyes inventorying her. He missed nothing, she was sure.

Like always, there was no point in lying. "I'm not entirely sure I've ever felt worse," she admitted, trying for self-deprecating. "But I'm alive."

"Yes, you are," he concurred. "Let's keep you that way."

He leaned over and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth lightly, so lightly she wasn't even sure she actually felt it.

She decided to take that as a good sign, however. At least he wasn't running away or hiding out in the Airstream with only his misery for company.

The doctor arrived then, a smiling middle-aged man who looked very competent. "Ah, Agent Lisbon," he said, when he saw she was awake. "I'd ask you how you were, but I think that'd be a bit of a silly question."

She liked him immediately.

He was thorough and efficient, and she learned quickly that she would be staying here one more night, just in case. She thought longingly of her own bed, and of Jane beside her, but the hospital was definitely preferable to a darkened closet, so she tried to take the directions with good grace.

She was allowed to eat and drink, all hinging upon how she tolerated her first meal, of course, and was given instructions to walk the halls a few times today.

"It'll help with the stiffness and pain," the doctor assured her. "And you'll have quite enough of that as it is."

Wonderful.

She ordered her breakfast after the doctor left, then as she was waiting for it to be delivered, a nurse helped her up, wrapping her in a horribly patterned robe. She shuffled to the bathroom, was a little dismayed at how long the process took, and was grateful for the safety rails in the room.

Jane was waiting when she emerged, and he smiled at her for the first time since they'd left Austin what seemed like a lifetime ago.

It made her feel immeasurably better.

For a bit, that was.

Because it seemed like he was intent on following the doctor's orders, which meant walking. He put one hand on the small of her back, patiently at her side as she painfully made her way down the hallway.

She was shaking before they had reached the first corner, but he guided her into another room on their way back. Her face broke open in a huge grin when the curtain surrounding the bed was pulled back.

Cho was sitting up in bed, and though he looked about like she felt, he smiled back at her, Fischer sitting in the chair nearby.

She had been prepared to die with him yesterday. It was unspeakably blissful to know she hadn't had to.

Though she wanted to talk, her body was protesting her use of it, and she let Jane help her back to her own bed after just a few minutes.

She sank back into the pillows gratefully.

The food at Austin Memorial was better than some hospitals, but she still didn't do much more than pick at her plate. Jane took a bite of her eggs but made a face before swallowing.

"The eggs in prison were better," he said, and she chuckled, ignoring the pain in her ribs.

Before noon, he made her get up and walk again, then helped her shower. She hadn't seen the full extent of her injuries before now, and she tried hard not to look after the first swift glance. But again, Jane saw all, and his face was a tight mask as he steadied her beneath the warm spray of water.

She could feel his tension, but his hands were gentle as he soaped her hair, wrapped her back up in a towel.

When she was dressed, she felt drained again.

"I think I'm gonna take a nap," she said softly.

"Okay," Jane replied, and clicked the television off.

She looked at him. He needed to shave, his hair starting to tumble. She realized he'd probably been in the same clothes for a few days now.

"Patrick," she said, earning his full attention. "Go home. Shower. Get a fresh suit. I'm going to sleep for the next few hours."

There was a flash of something behind his eyes, but she wasn't sure of what. "I'm fine," he told her. "You take your nap."

She shook her head. "Go," she repeated. "I'll be perfectly okay. But I'm worried about you."

After a long moment, where he seemed to struggle for words, he spoke. "I find I'm a little…hesitant to let you out of my sight." By the tone of his voice, she would have thought he was confessing to murder.

Patrick Jane wasn't used to being vulnerable, even if he _had_ told her he loved her in front of a plane full of strangers. Just…last week? Was that possible?

She smiled softly, gestured for him to come closer. She rested a hand on his stubbled cheek and he nuzzled into her touch, pressing his lips to the palm of her hand.

"Humor me," she said, knowing that this was something they would have to address, but knowing equally that this wasn't the time or place for that conversation. "Please?"

Eventually, he gave in, and with several backwards glances, finally left the room, armed with the short list of things she wanted him to bring back. She was almost ready to kill for a toothbrush.

She did manage to sleep, painkillers doing their job, and when she woke, Jane was back, his hair still slightly damp. He looked like he felt better, and she breathed in the scent of his cologne when he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

On impulse, she wrapped her arms around his waist, face pressed to his stomach. Very, very tentatively, he returned her embrace, and she was pleased to discover it didn't hurt that much.

He was…scared to touch her she realized.

That wasn't going to work.

After much cajoling, she managed to get him in the bed next to her as they watched mindless programming, something mildly amusing. The argument that had finally won him over was her statement that she felt better when she was close to him, said with the right inflection of pleading and hope that he absolutely couldn't deny her.

The nurse had taken her IV out earlier in the day, and she was very grateful to be mostly unhooked.

Cho had taken his own trip into her room, and they had talked a very little bit about what had happened after the FBI arrived. She was sure it would matter more to her later, but now it was enough that it was over. Cho apparently felt the same.

No one really liked to dwell on near-death experiences.

Abbott arrived that evening, flowers in hand, and he didn't even bat an eye at Jane lounging next to her.

"Don't even think about coming back to work until next Monday at the earliest," he said by way of greeting, setting the bright bouquet on the closest table.

"Yes, boss," she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

Abbott sat down in the chair that had been Jane's. "You scared the hell out of us, Lisbon, you and Cho. Let's make an agreement that we never do that again."

"I think I can handle that," she told him.

He didn't stay long, but she was grateful for the visit nonetheless.

She slept beside Jane that night, and it was cramped and a little uncomfortable and she wouldn't have dreamed of telling him to move.

The following morning, she was discharged, and had she been less stiff, she would have danced in celebration.

She spent the rest of the day letting Jane take care of her, and she had to admit, it felt ridiculously nice. She slept a great deal, usually against his chest, managed to eat a light lunch.

That night, she took a long bath, and though the hot water stung a few of her injuries, on the whole, she enjoyed every second.

But nothing topped finally getting into bed with Jane, _their_ bed, sliding between ridiculously high thread-count sheets, the down comforter pulled up to her shoulders.

She gave a contented sigh, reaching around in the covers to find Jane's hand. He squeezed her fingers for a second, then released her, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her.

Lightly, he brushed her hair off of her face, being very careful of her cheek.

"I was so scared," he said after a minute or so. "I didn't know where you were, or even who had you. I just kept thinking about the woman we found in the freezer." He swallowed, hard, and she knew better than to confess that she had thought she was going to end up like Caroline Marchbanks, too.

"I'm alright," she whispered, but Jane shook his head slowly.

"You're not," he admonished. "And I can't do anything about it."

Perhaps that was what this was about – his inability to fix all of her problems, something he was used to doing.

"You know," she teased, "there are some things in this world that are just beyond your control."

"Yes," he agreed, "but your well-being should not be one of them."

He was going to struggle with this, she knew. She could only hope he would come to terms with it eventually.

"Patrick," she began slowly. "I chose to do this job. It's who I am. There are risks associated with it. It's not like you're just now realizing this."

"I'm not," he said, looking thoughtful. "But it's just that…" He sighed. "Like I told you on the plane, letting people close to me is terrifying. For so many years, Teresa, I fought against what I felt for you. It kept you safe, too, but there was another reason. If I was open about what was in my heart, then I could be hurt again. And I wasn't willing to go down that road again."

She remembered his exact words as he had looked down on her that night, tears in his eyes, voice cracking. _But it scares me._

And less than a week later…

Ignoring her protesting muscles, she reached for him, pulling him down until his face was in the crook of her neck. He took several deep breaths against her skin, arms carefully around her.

"I'm trying," he finally murmured, voice muffled. "I'm trying."

She kissed his hair. "I love you," she breathed. "And I promise we'll be okay."

His lips touched her collarbone, and she knew her words were true.

They would be okay.

They were a little messed up, both of them, but who wasn't these days? And if he was willing to try, she was willing to do the same.

The one thing she wasn't willing to do was let this slip away from them because it wasn't all hearts and flowers and rainbows.

She held onto him with both hands, literally, and it felt like a promise.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** This is the end of this piece! I didn't actually intend to end it here, but sometimes things just sort of happen. My next few projects will probably be episode tags, since the Super Duper Tag Project was my idea and I've sadly neglected it.

Thank you to everyone who has left a review. You are all so very, very appreciated.

The first part of this is M.

**Learning to Breathe**

**Chapter Ten**

They didn't make love for a full week following her release from the hospital. It was more Jane than Lisbon – in fact, she had done everything but literally throw herself at him, and the only reason _that_ hadn't happened was because she didn't think she was physically capable of it in her current state.

She knew that was the cause of Jane's hesitation – he was scared of hurting her.

However, she _also_ knew that he wanted her very, very much. He didn't bother to try and conceal it as they curled together at night, or when she pulled him in for a deep kiss.

But when she pushed, he retreated.

She thought she was going to explode.

They were laying on the couch, his front to her back, watching the final three innings of an Astros game. Jane couldn't have cared less, but like he had told her before, he was going to be wherever she was.

Abruptly, she rolled to face him. He looked down at her with a slight smile, his eyes soft. His gaze lingered a bit on her cheek, but even that was healing. A few coats of concealer and it just looked like a shadow, though it was obviously still tender.

"I'm not made of glass, you know," she remarked conversationally.

"I know," he said very slowly, clearly wondering where this was going to go.

With a sigh that was meant to convey frustration with his obstinacy, she slid her fingers into the curls at his nape and tugged him down, demanding he open his mouth as soon as their lips met.

He complied, one hand bracing himself against the couch cushions. She found his other, pressed it against her breast.

Almost immediately, he stilled, pulling back.

"Jane," she nearly moaned, and she didn't bother to hide her desperation.

His expression was torn – wary but needy. He didn't speak, and she knew he was warring with himself. Time to help things land in her favor.

"I know you're afraid," she whispered, hand against his lightly stubbled jaw. "But this, you being distant…that hurts me more." Her eyes were open, honest. She was saying nothing but the truth, and he would be able to recognize that.

She thought she would win this now, seeing the very first flash of surrender cross his face, but she needed to be sure. Her palm fell from his face, coasted down his chest, and came to rest against his clearly evident arousal.

His lips parted, perhaps to tell her to stop, so she moved her fingers, rubbing and squeezing, gratified when his eyes closed and a shaky breath ghosted over her hair.

"Please, Patrick?" she asked, voice a sensual murmur now. "I need you."

His eyes opened, a blaze of brilliant blue-green. "Bedroom," he whispered, harsh and staccato, and she tried to hide her triumphant smile.

He was gentle, so gentle with her – carefully easing clothing off of her body, lips grazing every new inch of exposed skin. To her surprise, he kissed the bruises across her torso; she thought he would have avoided them entirely. His touch was feather-light, just a brush of softness and warmth, tender and teasing at the same time.

Her back arched when he took the taut peak of one breast into his hot mouth, her hands tangling in his hair, holding him in place.

His fingers found her center, deft and talented and able to read her body language down to the last letter.

He took a great deal of time to make her ready, so long, in fact, that she nearly screamed in frustration. Her fingernails on his shoulders had to be hurting him by now, but he gave no indication that he was bothered. When he finally circled his thumb with the absolute perfect amount of pressure, she made a noise that didn't sound quite human to her ears, seemingly ripped from her throat.

She was trembling all over when she opened her eyes, Jane on his side next to her smiling in a self-satisfied sort of way.

He nuzzled into her neck, nipped gently at her earlobe, very carefully turning her to her side as well. He had held her this way before their first time, but it was quite different now. His warm hand pulled one of her legs on top of his, and her lips parted unconsciously as she felt him at her entrance.

She had missed this feeling, this connection so very much.

But he was teasing her with his body again, and she tried to push back against him, groaning his name as he gave her just a little of what she wanted. She knew he was smiling even if she couldn't see him.

"Hush, Teresa," he told her, voice husky and deep. "We're doing this my way."

He made love to her in slow degrees, unhurriedly, careful to not put too much pressure on her still healing body.

His breathing was fast in her ear when his fingers slid from her hips to the apex of her thighs again, expertly bringing her to climax again. She was still flying when she felt his body stiffen behind her, heard his soft exhalation of release.

In a few minutes, she relaxed fully, Jane's heartbeat now under her unbroken cheek. He pulled the down comforter up to her shoulders, absently stroking her hair away from her face.

"See?" she murmured, eyes closed. "Nothing to be worried about."

He chuckled softly. "Nope, not a thing, except for the knowledge that my girlfriend is absolutely not above guilting me into having sex with her."

She swatted his chest. "Don't pretend that you didn't like it."

Jane kissed her hair. "I loved it," he said. "Feel free to do it more often."

She smiled to herself as she felt him drifting off to sleep. One more obstacle that they had overcome. It wouldn't be the last, she knew that, but she was confident in their ability to handle whatever life threw at them.

Six months later, the word _girlfriend_ was replaced with _fiancée_, and a few months after that, she earned the title of _wife_.

Some days, she fancied that she could almost _see_ him healing. However, there were still times when she knew there were things he would perhaps never be able to overcome.

The first night their baby had slept in the nursery away from them, she'd found Jane asleep on the floor in front of the crib.

It was heartbreaking, but she left him alone, knowing that this was simply one fear he wasn't going to be able to deal with, at least not that night.

"I'm trying," he told her that morning, a touch of defensiveness in his tone as he snuggled their tiny little girl. Daddy was her favorite place to sleep, and understandably so. It was _her_ favorite place to sleep, too.

"I know," she replied, and kissed his forehead, one hand resting lightly against their daughter's back.

In time, some of his more severe fears seemed to ebb. By the time their son was born, it was rare to find Jane in the nursery in the middle of the night unless his presence was actually required. He was more than a little overprotective, but she was alright with that. Her own father certainly hadn't been so, and she found it just made her love Jane even more, something she hadn't thought possible.

One sultry summer night, she joined him outside on the back patio, their children sleeping soundly. Their very fat basset hound followed her down the few steps, and she paused to scratch the dog's ears.

"You big spoiled baby," she said affectionately, then perched in the lawn chair next to Jane.

He handed her a beer, and she took a very tiny sip.

"I'll never get over this sky," she told him, looking up at the vast expanse above them. It seemed endless.

Jane smiled. "Everything's bigger in Texas," he quoted. "Bigger skies, bigger belt buckles…"

"Bigger families?" she tacked on, and then held her breath. This wasn't precisely how she'd planned to tell him, but since the situation had arisen…

He stared, attention fully on her face. Slowly, he grinned, eyes crinkling in his joy. "It's a girl," he said, once he was done kissing her.

He had been right the first two times. "You think?" she asked. "You'll be outnumbered."

His smile was blinding, even in the darkness. "It was always my ambition to be loved by many women."

She swatted his arm, but then pulled him closer. Her response was lost as she kissed him again, or tried to.

They were both smiling too widely.


End file.
